New Beginnings
by Sunflora200
Summary: The Leroux's characters finally find healing but in the most unexpected of places. Based on elements from both the 2004 movie and the book and is a continuation in the lives of Christine, Erik, Meg, and Raoul. RC and EM
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters except what I create out of my own imagination here.

**Rated:** K+

**Summary:** Based more on the movie than the book. What happens after Raoul and Christine's escape from the phantom's lair? Will they indeed get the happy ending that they deserve or will new trials and tribulations be placed in their path? Also details by alternating chapters, the story of Meg, Madame Giry, and Erik as they struggle to discover their own new beginnings.

**Author's Notes:** I wrote the prologue months before the other chapters and had originally intended for it to be a one-shot. The writing style for the following is therefore quite different from the rest of the story. I have now decided to continue after getting a number of wonderful reviews and it seems that "New Beginnings" will be a fairly long piece. So hopefully you will enjoy my first ever fanfiction.

**Prologue**

For what seemed like eternity, Christine stood rooted to the cold dungeon floor, scarcely able to breathe let alone speak. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she cried not only for her fate but for that of the man she loves.

"Make your decision. I grow weary," the Phantom growled as he gave a sharp jerk to his Punjab lasso. Even in the dim light of his lair, his disfigurement is horrible to behold and at that moment, he seemed more animal than human. _How could I have been so blind as to believe that he was an angel sent by my father? How could I have trusted him so?_ As these thoughts race through Christine's head, she saw behind her, Raoul gasping for air. He was almost unconscious and time was quickly running out. She would have to decide both of their fates now.

"I love you," she mouths softly to Raoul and sees a look of relief flit cross his face. If this was indeed the last time they would ever see one another again, she wanted to leave him with no doubts or regrets in his mind. That she would make this eternal sacrifice of her life and freedom for the love of him. _I'm so sorry Raoul but you mean too much to me. I would gladly give my life for yours and someday, you will be happy again._

Christine forced herself to look away and turn back once more to the Phantom. His swirling dark cloak along with the rest of his disguise was gone and he stood there dripping in the dank water, forlorn and yet with a dangerous determination in his face. His scarred eye focused sharply upon her. Even now, she could observe the passion that he had for her in his face but it was the sort of love without hope. _I pity you…I pity you…_

"Pitiful creature of darkness,

What kind of life have you known?

God give me strength to show you

That you're not alone,"

She sang and with a certain regal grace and compassion in her person, walked calmly to her fate. _I must accept my destiny and I will make him believe that I love him in order to provide him with some comfort. Let me pray that he will at least release Raoul. _She kisses him and feels him shudder in her embrace. Their tears for a moment mingle as one and fall to the water like drops of rain. She sees him linger and wear such an expression of regret and disbelief. She kisses him again to better convince herself. _Oh please God, let me at least restore some of his humanity so that he will do right. Let him feel some semblance of love that has been absent in his life._

The Phantom pulled away and staggered up the stairs. "Take him. Leave me! Don't let them find you! Go now! Go now!" he cried. Christine could scarcely believe her ears. Was he truly letting them walk away? Her hesitation lasted for only a second before she was rushing to Raoul and untying the cruel knots that had cut into his flesh. She could feel him heaving shuddering breathes against her as she pulled him into a tight embrace. _I never want to let go again. Oh Raoul…I was so afraid that I'd lose you forever. _

"My little Lotte," Raoul murmurs against her, "Come, let us go". He pulled her towards a small gondola stationed in the water nearby. Christine, herself, was all the more eager to leave but a thought stopped her. _I can't leave without finding some closure. For all the horrible things that he did, he did for the love of me. I have no right of all people to hate him._

"Oh Raoul, he was my teacher if anything and I at least owe him a last good-bye. Will you let me do this one thing?" and Christine turned to her fiancé with such a mournful expression on her lovely face that he at that moment could not have refused her the world.

"Go my love and be safe. I will wait here for you when you are ready." replied ever faithful Raoul though it tore a part of his heart to see his Christine still so attached to her angel of music. She smiled bravely then and reassured him with a gentle kiss on the lips.

"I love you, Raoul; you must know that. I promise to return right away."

She ascended back up the stone steps to where she knew the Phantom would be. Indeed, he sat hunched over his organ, singing a mournful tune to himself. At the slight rustle of Christine's skirt, however, he stopped and looked wistfully up at her.

"Christine, I love you." he murmured. She did not answer for what could she say in such a situation? Instead she simply drew from her finger, the ring that both Raoul and the Phantom had given her and closed it in his hands. Once this ring had represented that of the purest love between her and Raoul and now she found it a symbol of her long and waking nightmare. _I cannot keep it. Let this ring instead bring him some comfort and show that I am indeed grateful for his gift of music. _He stared at the golden circle in the palm of his hand in wonderment. And with that, she descended down the stairs and back to her Raoul. They embraced as only a pair of lovers could embrace, happy and secure in their love for one another. She placed her arm around Raoul's shoulder as he guided her onto the gondola and noticed with a look of concern that the wound on his arm had opened again due to his exertions. _Because of me...always because of me... Do I bring a curse on those whom I treasure the most in this world?_

"Raoul, are you angry that I gave your ring away?" Christine asked sleepily as she leaned her head upon his shoulder. The nagging feeling that he had seen her kiss the Phantom in the lair and had misinterpreted her intentions clung to her.

He gave her a gentle smile. "Not at all, he had placed it on your finger through force and had almost succeeded in taking you away from me. I am glad to see that tainted object gone, Christine."

"That was my thought as well, Raoul. Oh if he had indeed succeeded in entombing me in his black abyss tonight. What madness I would have endured without the daylight and your presence." she shuddered and clasped him even closer to herself.

He kissed the top of her head as he continued guiding the gondola through the many winding passages of the dungeon. "Do not dwell anymore on such unhappy thoughts, my little Lotte. We have our whole lives ahead of us now and I will always be by your side to guide and to guard you. There is no need to be afraid any longer."

She sighed in contentment as he, eager to prove his last words, sang softly to her their words of love as on the Opera Populaire rooftop. His soothing voice so full of adoration enveloped Christine, calmed her fears, and as always invigorated her soul.

"No more talk of darkness,

Forget these wide-eyed fears.

I'm here, nothing can harm you,

My words will warm and calm you

Let me be your freedom.

Let daylight dry your tears.

I'm here, with you, beside you,

To guard you and to guide you."

She joined in to sing her own part,

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime

Sat the word and I will follow you."

Their voices mingle into a final crescendo that echoed through the dungeon.

"Anywhere you go, let me go too

Love me, that's all I ask of you."

As if heaven itself had heard their call and rejoiced in celebration, there appeared ahead of them a small circle of light as the last few words were sung. Christine quickly spotted it and clutched at Raoul's arm.

"A light, Raoul! I see a light! We're almost free." she cried in joy despite her trembling. _It's so cold…my skirt feels as if it weighs a ton._ Raoul, meanwhile, gathered the last of his exhausted mind and body to guide the gondola to the bottom of a set of narrow stone steps, where a few strands of light had bravely crept their way down. He halted the gondola, leaped from it onto the steps first, and stretched out a hand to help Christine from the boat. She stumbled at first into Raoul's arms, feeling the full weight of her damp skirts drag behind her as utter exhaustion settled in.

"It'll be alright, little Lotte. We are almost there and my carriage will be waiting at the gate for us. Yet I must warn you first, when the Phantom first opened the trapdoor during Don Juan Triumphant, he released the chandelier that hangs over the ballroom. There was a small fire and I do not know if they have succeeded in extinguishing it. Stay close to my side." Raoul tried to say calmly. In all the confusion and horror down in the lair, he had almost forgotten.

"A fire!" Christine gasped in horror, "My home and my friends. What if Madame Giry and Meg are still trapped inside?" And she would have rushed headlong up the stairs, had Raoul not held her firmly around her waist to stop her.

"You must be calm, Christine. Only trust me and I will lead us from here. You mentioned once that the Phantom had led you down her before. Do you recognize where these stairs might lead?" Raoul questioned urgently.

"Yes, I remember the day that he took me from a secret door behind the mirror. These stairs and the passageway beyond lead to my room." Christine replied, trying desperately to be brave though the urgency evident in Raoul's voice frightened her. _Are we to escape from the Phantom only to meet our doom in fire?_

"Then let us go and remember to stay by my side." And with that Raoul firmly grasped Christine's hand and led her up the stairs. Indeed at the other top, they saw a long narrow passage, the stone walls dark and slick with algae. Having no light to guide them, they felt along the walls, Raoul in front and Christine behind. _The walls feel strangely warm_. In this way, they made it to the end of a seemingly solid door without a knob, the outline of which was illuminated by a bright light from outside. Raoul reached the door and felt its surface. It was hot and they could smell the smoke from the other side. The fire had spread all the way to the third floor where Christine's room was situated.

Raoul attempted to slide the door back but it seemed to have stuck fast from the outside. He threw himself against it again and again and only after the fourth try, did Christine hear a great crash as the door tumbled to the floor and the great mirror in its front shatter. A cloud of thick black smoke immediately blew towards them and obscured much of their vision. Christine coughed violently and struggled desperately to breathe. Tendrils of flame with a ruthless persistence were already eating their way to the corners of the room. The heat was unbearable and they could hear the shrieks and general chaos from the street below. Any minute now, the bottom two levels of the opera building could collapse from the flames. Raoul, choking himself from the smoke, ran to one of the windows in the room, grabbed a lamp, and smashed the panes. He, then, felt his way to Christine's bed and tore from it a great white sheet.

"We have no way to escape down the stairs, Christine. Our only choice is to jump from the window. Do you trust me, my little Lotte?" he cried, stretching out his hand. His face despite being covered with soot never looked as beautiful to her as at that moment. _My hero, Raoul. My knight in shining armour._

Christine did not hesitate for even a moment before firmly putting her hand in Raoul's.

"I would follow you anywhere." she exclaimed with an expression of utter courage.

"Then hold tightly to me and do not let go. I will try to use this sheet as a parachute. God be willing and remember that I love you, Christine."

She clung tightly to Raoul and tightly closed her eyes as they both stood on the ledge of the window. Three stories including the soaring ceiling of the ballroom in the first story was a long way to jump. Raoul had one of each of his hands wrapped tightly around two of the corners of the sheet and before Christine had even had time to murmur her love back, a feeling of weightlessness overcame her and made her dizzy with fear. It seemed like an eternity as they fell through the sky but to the people in the streets below who witnessed the peculiar sight, it was only a matter of seconds.

A delicious breath of fresh air and a coolness all around her. She felt hands helping to lift her up from the snow amid cries of joy and prayers. _Am I in heaven? And if so, will I meet papa again? But this couldn't be because I ache all over and in heaven, there is no pain._ There was soon a familiar warmness at her side and a concerned voice tenderly calling her name.

"Christine! Christine! My love, speak to me!"

Her eyelids fluttered open to a white light and the first sight she beheld was Raoul's loving face as she lay in his arms. His handsome face was bent close to hers and his deep blue eyes were moist with worry. And then as she slowly turned her head, she beheld Meg and Madame Giry huddled around her as well. _Maybe this is heaven after all._ And with this last little thought, her world dissolved into blackness and she felt nothing.

**Thanks for Reading:** I've always considered this chapter to be my weakest so hopefully readers haven't been scared away and will try chapter two. Hopefully one day, I'll have the motivation to write a new prologue that fits more with the rest of the story that is. There will be no singing, repetition of lines from the movie, nearly so many thoughts written in italics, or phantom-bashing ahead, I promise. Erik has become afterall an essential and beloved character in this story.


	2. Lost and Found

**Author's Note:** Philippe is Raoul's older brother who was killed off in the book but not mentioned in the movie. In my story, he is also dead but due to an accident (will explain later) and not from the Phantom's doing. Just to clear things up.

**Chapter 1: Lost and Found**

She was walking down a dark, winding hallway and the only other sounds were the echoing of her own light footsteps. There was intensity in the atmosphere. A feeling of something lurking and of something lost.

"Raoul! Raoul, where are you!" Christine called, her voice sounding strangely weak and small in the surroundings. _I'm trapped here…_

All around her rose the tall, obscure walls of the passageway as she continued to wander deeper and deeper into the strange, seemingly endless labyrinth. Until just up ahead she fancied she could perceive a small flickering light.

"Raoul! Is that you? Raoul!" she tried calling once more and rushed at the yellowish glow. _Strange that despite it being so dark, I do not stumble._ The sound of her heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat kept time to the pitter-pattering of her feet as she ran.

She did not anticipate the dark, masked figure that awaited her at the end of her journey. It stood enshrouded in a heavy, black cloak and entirely bathed in the now harsh, yellow light. Christine only remembered stopping dead in her tracks in absolute terror.

"What have you done to Raoul?" and momentarily did she forget her fear to demand an answer.

"Give me back your voice, thief!" demanded the figure and tossing back its cloak, it revealed the horrible scarred face of Erik the opera ghost himself. His cold, white fingers stretched towards Christine's throat and his mouth twisted into a gapping, endless hole in laughter.

"You will be forever mine, Christine! Christine!"

She jerked awake with a sharp shiver and found herself lying on a tall Mahogany bed. Despite the brightness of the cold morning sun filtering in from the open French windowpanes and the awareness of her nightgown soaked uncomfortably in sweat; Christine opened bleary, glazed eyes to meet the gentle, blue ones of a young lady, the only other occupant of the room. _Those eyes, they resemble Raoul's._

"Who are you? Where's Raoul" Christine demanded wildly, still reeling from the memory of her dream and extremely disorientated. With almost a frenzied sense of loss, she tore at the bedclothes which had become inexplicably tangled to her and prepared as if to fly out of bed to find her fiancé.

"No, you have been quite ill and should not be out of bed," and so saying, the lady managed to restrain Christine who still very weak could offer little resistance, "It is so wonderful to see that you are finally awake! Elle our maid left to fetch Doctor Andre and I had offered to sit with you. My name is Adele and I am Raoul's cousin. You are currently in the de Chagny mansion and are perfectly safe."

Christine languidly let Adele ease her into bed and tuck the covers back into place. Drowsiness once more replaced her former unease and her feverish mind struggled to comprehend what the lady had said. _…in the Chagny mansion…Adele…how…_ Her eyelids despite her brave attempts to keep them open inevitably begun to droop. "Thank-you for your care, Adele," Christine could only murmur, "But Raoul, is he safe? Will I be able to see him soon?"

"Yes, he is safe and I will tell him at once that you're awake. But first you must get completely well so he may come and visit you," Adele said and finished smoothing back the pink satin covers. Christine did not attempt any more protestations for sleep was fast approaching and she felt already that she could trust Raoul's cousin.

And this time, Adele watched as a frown no longer marred Christine's features as she slept.

Meanwhile, sitting quite alone in the deep recesses of a magnificently decorated drawing room with a long-forgotten novel open in his lap was none other than Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny himself. Five days had passed since the Opera Populaire had burnt to the ground, five days in which Raoul could not remember getting a wink of sleep, five days in which Christine still lay in a senseless daze just upstairs, and only three days since his brother's body had been found floating in a lake. People mostly family and friends had drifted by and offered their words of comfort to the grieving man but he had barely heard them. They simply had not understood the trauma that he had gone through that horrible night in the hands of a madman and even now was again reliving every minute as fear for Christine tormented him. _They cannot understand…no one around me besides Christine can…_

The only other beings who perhaps related to his horror had been Madame Giry and her daughter Meg. He had offered after the fire destroyed their home, nay even insisted, that they stayed with him at his current abode. After all, there was plenty of room. But Madame Giry being an extremely proud woman had been adamant and had refused to intrude upon his grief when he had his hands so full already. She had left, taking Meg by the hand and informed him that all had been arranged and they would be staying with a sister of hers at a small cottage on the outskirts of Paris. She had given Raoul reassuring, motherly words beforehand, a slip of paper with their address, and a promise to visit regularly. Raoul had not attempted to change her mind by argument for he knew with Madame Giry that it would be useless. Somehow, he also felt deep in her heart that she too needed time to mourn for the phantom or Erik whom she had attempted to protect and whom she perhaps even loved in a perverse sort of way as a son.

Raoul had lost a brother whose ideas though constantly clashing with his own was still his last link to an immediate family member. Even then, they had still forbid him to be by Christine's side while she lay so ill for propriety's sake. After all, they though engaged and having been through only a life-and-death situation were still not married. _Well damn propriety then..._ Raoul fought the urge to hurl his book into the yellow flames of the fireplace he had been staring blankly into. He brought his weary head to rest heavily on his heads before uttering a deep sigh. The Vicomte de Chagny was never known by the world to brood. He had always been considered in comparison to Philippe to be the always optimistic, always magnanimous and mild one by the rest of society. But certainly not lately as his normally bright but now exhausted blue eyes seemed to foretell. His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of quick, light foot steps on the marble floor.

"Christine?" he turned abruptly, forgetting himself momentarily in his hope. He tried to mask his sense of unreasonable disappointment as he saw the slim figure of his cousin approach. Adele with a smile on her lips walked up to Raoul and exchanged a peck on the cheek with him.

"Oh Raoul, I have just been upstairs with Christine and she has awaken!" Adele rushed to impart the joyous news to her anxious cousin. Her reward was great for Adele felt as if she had yet seen a sweeter or brighter grin light up on Raoul's face. It was almost instantaneous as the years added to his face over the past few days seem to melt away. Nevertheless, she felt a strange twinge of disappointment that even as children growing up together, Raoul had ever favored her with such a smile.

"She is? She is! Oh thank God, I must see her!" and after uttering a wonderful laugh and having pulled Adele into a tight embrace, Raoul prepared to run upstairs.

"But you can't!" exclaimed Adele as she stopped her overzealous cousin. "I left her once more asleep and you mustn't disturb her." She did not add the point of her parents at once discovering the impropriety of such an act.

Raoul even in his boyish impatience comprehended and listened to the more level-headed advice of his cousin and properly submitted. But not without a tinge of disappointment mingled with indescribable joy.

"You will have to wait until she is completely recovered and out of bed, Raoul. It will not be long for her fever has almost broken according to Elle and the doctor," said Adele with a reassuring smile. "She will be up and out of bed very soon after plenty of rest."

Her cousin nodded, "Yes, it cannot be soon enough. Would that I could have been there by her side to soothe her unease. Did she ask for me?" After the initial delight, Raoul's face was again filled with the anxiety of a lover.

"She did and I reassured her that you are indeed safe and that she was currently in the de Chagny mansion. Christine seemed very relieved and I left her in a very sweet slumber. Both Elle and the doctor will return very shortly," replied Adele. She watched as Raoul closed his eyes in relief, his lips for a second moving as if he was offering up a silent prayer.

When he did open his eyes once more, Adele noticed that they seemed moist with unshed tears. "Thank-you, Adele. I do not know how I could have withstood these past few days without you," and so saying Raoul grasped his cousin's hand with gratitude and gave it a gentle squeeze. She could only murmur something about it being no trouble at all before turning her face away from his gaze, a sudden unexplainable flush rising to her cheeks.

Outside to the rest of the innocent or not so innocent inhabitants of Paris, the last bits of half-melted snow and the sudden cold blasts that still swept by marked the conclusion of January. Life went on as before other than a stray newspaper with the heading of "Opera Populaire Destroyed in Mysterious Fire" trampled onto the pavement by a passing carriage. Here the grey streets jostled with life and activity as lavishly dressed ladies in sweeping trains and fur muffs leaned on the arms of adoringly attentive gentlemen. A servant haggled viciously with the butcher for her family's supper and a small immigrant boy in breeches attempted to sneak an apple from a nearby fruit stand. Even a flea-bitten stray dog went about its own business by its constant yipping and running about in circles in bold attempts to finally catch that mysteriously wagging appendage.

No one, therefore, paid much attention to the pathetic looking figure huddled in the doorway of a long-abandoned tenement located in a narrow alley. He or she, though its dress or what was left of it suggested that of a man, was swaddled in a long, black cloak which completely hid his face. It was perhaps all well after all since that way no one would be horrified to see his deformities. This way, he could finally choose to die on his own right without the constant persecution of strangers. And as the chilly winter wind swept through with a faint whistle, Erik the former Phantom of the Opera shivered.

**Thanks for Reading:** I hope that was enjoyable and very sorry to leave you in a sort of cliffy. Anyways, even though I'm an R/C fan, I just didn't have the heart to kill off Erik since he is a character who fascinates me. So definitely look for further developments on him. Also don't forget to review since all comments are much appreciated and what keeps me writing.


	3. A Day at the Marketplace

**Chapter 2: A Day at the Marketplace**

The cottage perched near a small tributary from the mighty Seine River was anything but ostentatious. In fact, upon closer inspection, one could even call the dwelling extremely drab with regular grayish-brown walls and a small attached shed to its left. There was a barn where Mme. Arlette, a diminutive motherly widow, kept a flock of snowy geese which a hired boy led out to meadow every early morning.

The garden, in fact, could be considered the only adorning jewel of the cottage and spanned a full three and a quarter acres. Mme. Arlette, as already mentioned above, was a member of the rising upper-middle class and though could not by any means be called wealthy, had always taken special care to hire several gardeners to tend to this particular plot of land. Because it was winter, many of the flowers have not yet been planted and the landscape looked barren with the protruding skeletons of 2 enormous olive trees. The widow, however, had promised Meg and Madame Giry that in spring her plot of land abounded in colorful hydrangeas, heliotropes, the common black-eyed daisies, and hybrid tea roses which remained her last pride and joy.

Such a change of setting was a great reprieve and yet also a sorrow for Meg Giry who had known the Opera Populaire as her only home. Back at the opera house she had spent many of her hours in practicing ballet and overseeing some of the theatre backgrounds construction. Here, Meg found more time than she could spend on her hands. In addition to some light chores to keep her hands busy (Mme. Arlette kept a maid and a footboy), she found surprisingly that she did not dwell on the tragedy of the opera house unlike her mother. After all, Meg was in the bloom of youth and the young are known to be especially resilient and adaptable in the face of adversity. True, she worried constantly for her friend Christine and the Vicomte but had counted her blessings of everyone having escaped from the fire. Madame Giry, on the other hand, for the past week had spent her time locked up in her room. Meg worried for her mother and had attempted several times to lessen her sorrow by a naturally cheerful nature. In all endeavors, she had been sharply rebuked or given evasive answers and now rather vexed herself; Meg felt that there was something still her mother had not told her about.

Then again, Meg had her own secret too as she fingered a small, pale mask one day. It had been cleverly hidden in the bottom of her trunk since she had discovered it that fateful night. She had followed the gang of men who had rushed into the many catacombs against her mother's wishes and stumbled upon the mask in the midst of a strangely decorated room. Meg had yet to tell anyone of the mysterious object and had even half-fancied that it belonged to the opera ghost himself. But that was impossible for phantoms cannot remove their masks.

"Meg! Would you like to accompany Pierre to the marketplace?" called Mme. Arlette, momentarily startling Meg from her reverie. She had hurriedly answered a brief yes, placed the mask back into her trunk, collected some flowers in a little basket, and tripped down the stairs in a grey muslin frock and shawl. After eight days, Meg wanted very much to visit Christine and Raoul today and ascertain her friend's condition. Just yesterday, she had received news from Anne (a maid) that Christine had very recently woken up and would be soon out of bed.

Meg chatted gaily with Pierre, the rotund married caretaker for Mme Arlette, on the drive in the chaise and found him though not very knowledgeable in still nonetheless very eager to express his opinions on operatic singing. Having once reached the market, she insisted on Pierre finishing his shopping while she paid the visit to the de Chagny residence.

He had been reluctant at first, "It ain't proper and safe, Mlle, for a young lady as yourself to wander the streets alone," grumped Pierre from the chaise as he warily watched Meg descend, "Best wait until I'm done and I'll watch you to the gate."

Meg shook her head stubbornly, "There's nothing at all 'unsuitable' for me to pay a visit to my friend alone." She added, "After all, I've been with Christine there before and will walk along the main street." He seemed reluctant until she assured him of her safety and that it would be only a two mile journey.

"Well, though I don't like the idea, I'll come wait outside for you after half an hour then," and with a click of the reins Pierre urged the horses forward, eager to browse through the newest selection of plows that had just arrived.

The cobble-stoned streets were fairly quiet in the early afternoon as Meg made her way through the somber houses. With a sigh, she suddenly felt guilty about not telling Pierre that the real reason she wanted to go alone was to see the old opera house once more. Having reached the building or what was left still standing prominently between an inn and a cafe, Meg was not prepared for what she saw. The image of the once handsome building reduced to a black skeletal structure brought tears to her eyes. _Memories of my childhood…completely destroyed in just one night…_Windows had been smashed, the door boarded up, and the word "Stay out" scrawled hastily in red paint across the entrance. The street around it was virtually deserted. Meg turned her head away; she regretted coming here at all...so many awful things happened…the phantom…

"Nasty thief! You thought you'd get away from stealing from me, eh?" yelled a male voice.

"Hideous creature! He resembles the devil himself!" slurred another voice.

"Lets us do him a favor and send the wretch there then! Disgusting monster!" spoke up another.

Standing from where she was, Meg could see and hear, hidden in the narrow alleyway between the inn and the tavern a group of poorly dressed men kicking furiously at something. '…or someone' she realized. From her vantage she could see that the poor creature was almost completely surrounded by the men (There must have been six or seven.). It lay completely motionless and she had the horrifying thought that it must already be dead.

Now Meg was a girl, though headstrong, was not stupid and she knew better than to interfere. She was quite alone and there were a number of drunken men out to satisfy their need for bloodlust and perhaps for something else later on. Extremely frightened and yet filled with a strangely rising feeling of pity, she waited unseen for what seemed like eternity as the brutes mingled loud profanity with violence. Finally the leader, a lanky being with a mop of greasy red hair, grew tired and led the rest of his acquaintances away.

"That'll teach ya to steal from Henri Beauvis!" and with a spit to punctuate his name, the man left, the others tagging along with a roar of combined laughter.

Meg shook all over and for a moment debated whether she should run simply run back into the marketplace and cry for help. Even much later, she could not explain what sort of magnetic impulse had then induced her to walk toward the motionless black pile. Nevertheless, Meg did and saw for her own eyes that "it" was indeed a man with a hideous deformity on the right side of his face and long, untamed grey-streaked black hair. He lay curled up on one side, his cloak reduced to shreds, dressed in a dirty white shirt and black trousers, and covered in blood and bruises from head to toe. It was a grotesque scene and had Meg been delicate, she might have shrieked and fainted away at the sight. But fortunately she did neither.

"Sir?" she asked as she bent over him, "Sir, we must get you some help". The stench of blood and dirt momentarily overwhelmed her. Getting no response, Meg wanted instead to ask him if he was still alive but thought that notion redundant and absurd.

Standing up, she was about to turn and run for aid when a hand suddenly snaked out and wrapped itself around her ankle. Meg suppressed the urge to scream. Turning to face the man, she beheld the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen gazing up at her.

The man's lips moved as he struggled to speak. "A-a-angel? Christine?" he finally managed to gasp, a small trickle of blood running down the side of his face.

For a moment, Meg froze in shock. _Could it be? No it couldn't. It's impossible. He must have meant a different Christine. _"Will you sing for me?" he begged, his astonishing gold-flecked green eyes slowly glazing over.

"No sir, you are mistaken," replied Meg firmly, "I'm not Christine. My name is Meg and we must get you to a doctor right away."

"N-n-no doctor…leave…let me die…" and with a last pleading look that went straight to Meg's heart, his eyes closed and he lay very still. _Please don't let him be a madman._

"Sir?" she asked again. Meg saw to her relief that his chest still rose and fell with even breathes. Without a seconds thought, she rushed down the path she had come, running frantically towards the busiest part of town. In her haste, she did not hear the sound of a carriage careening towards her until against her face Meg could feel the hot breathe and hear the sharp whinny of a spooked horse. This time, she did scream.

"Good God!" shouted the driver in a gruff tone, "I could have killed you, Mlle!" He leaned slightly forward to inspect Meg and suddenly gave a shout of surprise, "Mlle Giry! I've been looking all over for you!" And Pierre's normally pink face turned as red as a beet in utter shock and horror.

Meg paused to catch her breathe, feeling decidedly dizzy-headed from such a strange turn of events. _I knew I ought to have stayed home today…_"Oh, Pierre! I cannot explain but there's a man badly hurt near the old Opera Populaire and you must take me to fetch a doctor." And leaving Pierre sputtering incoherent words and a redder countenance than ever, she promptly got into the carriage.

"A vagrant, perhaps a thief!" shouted Dr. Jacques after he had finished examining the man who still lay senseless in the alley. "No, I want no part in this" and taking up his bag huffily, prepared to go on his way.

"Please sir, you can't simply leave him here to die!" cried Meg who had somehow expected such an occurrence and reached with both hands to stop the doctor. She promptly retrieved her purse and extracted all the funds she could find. "See, I can pay you. At least bandage up his wounds."

Dr. Jacques shook his head obstinately and turned to leave. He was restrained quickly by a pair of callous hands. "Now doctor, do not be so heartless. Do we not all consider ourselves gentlemen after all?" said Pierre with an unsympathetic, almost menacing twinkle in his normally mild grey eyes, "I'm sorry but I must insist you listen to the Mlle."

Assuming a look of pure outrage, Dr. Jacques with such a coalition against him could do nothing but succumb to their wishes. "It's done!" he announced an hour later and wrinkling his nose in distaste, pocketed the fee, and strolled quickly away. Meg and Pierre were now left alone with the injured man.

"Well, let us be off now," said Pierre abruptly and with faulty cheerfulness, "Mme Arlette'll be wondering what's been keeping us and it's almost suppertime and…" His voice died down at once as he saw the look on Meg's face.

"Pierre, he's been badly wounded. Even you must admit that we cannot simply leave him here. What if those men came back?"

The caretaker frantically shook his head and but could already feel himself yielding to Meg's pleading gaze and his own tender heart hidden under a rough exterior, "No, absolutely not. Both yer mother and Mme. Arlette would not stand for such a thing. You have been worrying me all day, young lady, and I cannot humor such nonsense no longer. I won't. I…" he stopped and relented without much further persuasion.

By the light of a kerosene lamp as she ran a brush through her hair, Meg did not know what had come over her that day. She had never made that visit to the de Chagny mansion, had lied to and manipulated poor Pierre, had visited the Opera Populaire when she knew no good could come from it, and had completed the day by lying again to her mother and Mme. Arlette about her whereabouts all afternoon. She had saved someone's life perhaps, had left that same person unconscious in the barn loft and made Pierre promise not to tell, and was even now torn between fathomless guilt, a terrible foreboding, and yet also a peculiar sense of satisfaction. _He might be dangerous, a thief perhaps even a murderer_. _I might have endangered us all in my selfishness._ Her hairbrush dropped with muffled clatter.

_I wonder what his name is._

**Author's Notes:** After reading this chapter, you must have guessed it already. I have decided to add the E/M pairing to this story. Chapters will probably alternate between R/C and E/M though not always. Please remember to leave a review and many thanks for those people who already have.

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please bear with me if I make mistakes. Until next time then.


	4. The Meeting

**Author's Notes:** A couple of things to clarify: this story is based on the assumption that Meg does not have any knowledge of ever having met or heard of Erik from her mother but only of the legend of the phantom like in the novel. Also Erik's appearance is more akin to Gerard Butler's portrayal in the movie. Other than that enjoy and please leave a review.

**Chapter 3: The Meeting**

A late snowstorm unleashed all of its furry on the unsuspecting inhabitants of Paris and left the landscape completely blanketed in white. Silence reigned as people nestled against warm fires; the only other sound outside was a lone, barking dog. The small stream beside the cottage froze solid overnight and the hired boy bundled in a thick woolen coat had left work early after having returned the geese from pasture.

Meg Giry, sitting by the fireplace with her mother, was trying her best to occupy herself with her needlework but had soon irreparably tangled up her thread again. She had always thought after starting her new life at the cottage that she was never meant for such domestic tasks as sewing or embroidery. All her life, she had engaged herself in perfecting the art of dancing and would be considered by many to be extremely unladylike. In addition, Meg was also perfectly frank, having never learned falsity or guile as well as rather rash and willful. Perhaps that was why the secret hidden in the barn weighed so heavily on her mind and conscience. She finally set aside the needle and bit of cloth with a deep sigh.

Mme. Giry raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, "Meg, I declare that I have never seen you so fidgety before. Is something the matter?"

Meg gave her mother a nervous smile before answering, "Nothing at all." She looked at Mme Giry's unconvinced face, "Really, Maman. I suppose it is just this change in the weather outside that has been affecting my mood."

Mme. Giry nodded and looked out the window where flakes of snow continued to fall, "Yes, it'll be very cold before this all melts. How unusual that it should snow so heavily now. You know, my dear, I've never been a superstitious woman but I tend to think this might be a bad omen of some sort." She added, "Don't forget to dress warmly when you decide to go out."

"Yes, Maman," Meg replied with a mind clearly on something else, "However, I think reading something from the library will be good for me." She rose from the couch and hurried away before her mother could respond.

In her room, Meg rummaged through her wardrobe and uncovered an extra blanket before placing it in a basket along with some morsels smuggled from the kitchen. Balancing her load, she carefully tip-toed down the stairs.

'It'll be cold today,' echoed in her head. A day had passed since the marketplace tryst and Pierre had informed her yesterday after having been sent to check on the man that he had spent the entire night and day either asleep or unconscious. Pity for the wounded, mysterious creature in the barn sent her out alone and without anyone's knowledge. Meg tried to reason away a gnawing feeling of remorse that once more she was lying to her mother as she softly stole out the back gate. A chilling, winter wind immediately begun to tear at the folds of her shawl and a shower of fast falling flakes temporarily obscured all vision. 'Yes,' Meg thought, plowing her way through the snow, 'As soon as his wounds heal which will not be too long, I will send him on his way. Maman will never have to know.'

Thin sheets of ice had formed on the latch and Meg struggled to open the barn door. Success once achieved and covered in cold melting snow, she slipped into the refreshing warmth and was met with the soothing clucks of nestled geese. A blast of wind slammed the door closed with an ominous clang; the dimness of the barn was a sharp contrast. She had to quiet the frantic pounding of her heart by reminding herself that it was foolish to be so afraid before proceeding up the loft.

He lay in the same position as before. Meg again had to watch for the rise and fall of his chest to ascertain the man was alive. After laying the offered supplies in one corner, she fell from curiosity to studying the creature she had saved. The horribly scarred side of his face was half-hidden in the straw and from Meg's point-of-view, had the right side of his features matched his left, he might have been a remarkably handsome man. Fortune for whatever reason had not been so kind to him however. From his long and fine hands, he did not seem to be a common laborer. Meg fancied such fingers would be wonderfully suited for a musical instrument of some sort. 'But then again, thieves and depraved conmen could very well have such hands as well,' thought Meg. 'And the way he was found…'

So engrossed was she in attempting to discern his character that Meg did not notice the man's suddenly quickened breathe. Needless to say, the poor girl was completely off guard when she found her wrist seized in an iron grasp and jerked forward to confront a pair of very green, very intimidating eyes.

"Oh!" Meg could only cry foolishly. She was both shocked and truly frightened now.

"Why?" demanded the man, his voice an impressive boom even in his obvious pain. "Why did you save me? Why did you not leave me to die?"

Meg quavered and felt it of little use to attempt a struggle for he was remarkably strong even while wounded. Her wrist was starting to ache and yet he showed no signs of releasing her. There was a long pause as she opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find the appropriate words. "I-I-I couldn't. You were injured and I felt myself obligated to help you." Meg replied. She did not shrink from his keen gaze though the cruel, menacing expression found there was terrible to behold. He had half-risen when he spoke and Meg was now forced to bear the full ugliness of his deformity.

He must have seen where she was looking along with the horror reflected in her own blue eyes. "You gaze intently at this repulsive, monstrous face of mine which ostracizes me forever from society." He sneered, "You think me exceedingly ugly, yes?" The creature tossed back his head and gave a bitter chuckle. A hollow, mirthless laugh that sent icy shivers down Meg's spine.

"I do, sir," said Meg simply.

"You fear and loathe me then?" pressed the man further, peering curiously at the rare creature before him who was dangerously candid; who he had expected to cry, plead or faint as was the established customs for all damsels in distresses but who would not such.

"No, I do not know you well enough to hate you. But I am indeed afraid." Meg, who in actuality was not feeling nearly as courageous as her words and steady voice would seem to suggest, was seriously contemplating the effectiveness of kicking or hurling herself at the man and thereby securing a chance for her escape.

"Why?" he asked mockingly, leaning in even closer.

"Because you are hurting my wrist, sir and will not release me."

"Ah but fear is only a precursor to hatred" he said almost eagerly, still holding fast to her wrist and ignoring her request. "If you only knew the crimes I have committed, you would certainly abhor me."

"So you admit that you did indeed steal from that man yesterday," she questioned.

He was amazed by her boldness and observed her warily. "Worse…I have done far worse…" came the confession spoken in a muffled, subdued tone. He looked away with a pained grimace and did not see Meg's eyes widen in horror.

These words served only to affirm her suspicions that she had saved none other than a heinous criminal and added to her horror and guilt. _I should not have been so trusting. _Yet she could not easily forget the grief and self-hatred evident in his countenance as he had asked if she hated him. A person's conscience once destroyed cannot be so easily if at all recovered again. Clearly, this man whoever he was and whatever he had done lay broken, tormented with suicidal thoughts. Surely his appearance could not have added to his situation in life either.

"Pitiful creature…" she whispered, uncertain of what had induced her to blurt out such words. After all, here she was perhaps completely at his mercy. The only witnesses were the geese below them and a raging storm outside to completely muffle her screams. _No one to call for help..._ And still, she pitied him against all reason and sense. This pathetic, unpredictable, and most likely mad being before her... _Surely I must be going insane as well._

Whatever the lapse in sense, the effect of her words on the man was immediate however. He jerked his head to regard her with a mixture of pained surprise, tragedy, and something inexplicable to Meg. "How…" he begun and faltered, "She too had once said that to me…" Meg's face plainly expressed her confusion and if the man was secretly searching for an answer, he found none there and was disappointed. With a weary sigh, he closed his abruptly misty eyes.

"Go," spoken in a low voice, "Go at once. Call for the police and they will find me without trouble. I offer resistance no longer." He released his hold on her.

Meg did not need to be told twice and half stumbling, half descending down the ladder and out of the barn, she managed to somehow drag her trembling body back to the cottage…

…and almost collide directly with her mother.

"Good heavens! Meg, you're soaked through and through. What has happened, child?" Madame Giry cried after a sharp glance at her daughter's pathetic, shivering figure.

Now Meg half wanted to invent an excuse for her current condition. But upon seeing the worry on her mother's lined face and after the recent turn of events, she was left speechless and thoroughly drained. For such reasons, Meg was very much relieved to fling cold arms round the confused matron and half cry, half pour out her troubles.

"I've got something urgent to tell you, Maman."

**Thanks for Reading**: This chapter was challenging for me to write but also very enjoyable. (Sorry, I will get back to RC in the next chapter.) It took several revisions but I hope that neither Erik nor Meg is out of character. To say that they got off on the wrong foot would be an understatement…but hopefully things will be better. ;) Until next time then!


	5. Road to Recovery

**Chapter 4: Road to Recovery**

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_

_Admit impediments. Love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

_O no! it is an ever-fixed mark_

_That looks on tempests and is never shaken._

The late morning sunlight was streaming in through the tall glass windows as Adele sat perusing a book of Shakespearean sonnets. So engrossed was she in her reading that she did not hear the soft footsteps and rustle of silk; until lifting her soft eyes in surprise, she saw the elegant figure of her mother Madame Nicolette de Chagny approaching.

Madame de Chagny was a tall, elegant woman with large dark eyes, bountiful auburn hair, a perfectly chiseled Roman nose, and a small mouth which had a curious tendency to pucker at the corners upon feelings of displeasure. When she was Adele's age, she had been rightfully considered the belle of Paris and highly sought after by numerous suitors. Rumors passing from ear to ear had attributed her to a broken love affair with a handsome but faithless creature before her subsequent and immediate marriage to a Vicomte Andre de Chagney, sole younger brother to Raoul's father. Such a vile secret had been alluded to only because Vicomte Andre de Chagney was a short, squat creature with virtually nothing in personal looks but nevertheless blessed with title, money, and an easy-going nature. He was a kind man generous to all though perhaps not a little naïve and had been ecstatic when the lovely Nicolette, having never favored him with much interest before, suddenly agreed to his proposal of marriage. Now at the age of four and thirty, her beauty honed by a more mature sophistication had never faded but was still even more striking.

"Adele love, I had heard from that you had recently been upstairs to check on Mlle. Daae? Is it true, is she really awake?" asked Madame de Chagey at once upon Adele looking up. She took a seat on the same sofa and gracefully spread out the folds of her burgundy colored silk gown.

Her daughter nodded, "Yes, Christine will be completely recovered soon though Anne has told me she suffers greatly from nightmares still." She smiled and added, "Raoul was very happy when I told him the news; he has been very impatient to see her."

Madame de Chagny nodded without much interest, "It is good to hear." She shifted her seat closer to Adele and after giving her a keen pointed look, asked in a meaningful tone of voice, "And you, Adele, are you happy that she is getting well?"

Adele was torn for a moment between astonishment and confusion over this strange question, "Of course I'm happy that she will be well again. Though Raoul has not told me much about the night her home, the Opera Populaire, was destroyed in that horrible fire, I can see that both of them have suffered exceedingly over this event. And poor Philippe as well, I can only imagine the pain at the loss of a brother." She saw the look in her mother's eyes and added with emphasis, "And if there is anything that I could do to ease some of my cousin's burden and quickly bring peace and joy back into his and Christine's lives, I would do it."

Her mother gave her a look of mingled pity and simmering impatience. "Come, come, no ceremonies, my dear. I am your mother after all and it would be shameful lack of perception for even me not to notice," with a quick glance around. "I have been observing you and your cousin together since you were only just children and now…" she paused and looked at Adele who was bravely trying to put on a blank façade. "Can you honestly say that you hold no feelings for Raoul and that he has none for you? Can you convince your mother that had this Mlle. Daae, a virtually penniless opera singer might I add, had not come along that by now, Adele-?"

With a horrified look and a shake of her head, Adele rose abruptly, interrupting Madame de Chagny in mid sentence. Never in her life had she been so deeply ashamed and alienated from her mother; not even as a small child where Adele rarely saw that mysterious beautiful phantom who smelt of English roses and who glided up to her nursery once a month to look and coo at her child. "Please mother, I do not wish to hear anymore and I wish you never to speak so slightly of Christine again. She has been through so much turmoil, seems like a sweet girl, and should we perhaps become better acquainted with her, I am almost certain we should love her. However, Raoul and I, we are only good friends and close cousins and nothing more will come of it," she said through gritted teeth and a very pale face. "And that is all there is."

The expression on Madame de Chagny's face clearly showed that she did not believe one word from her daughter's lips. Adele's furious denials had only served to further justify her suspicions. She sighed, "Oh my dear, where is your heart? Why will you not let me help you?"

The girl ignored the outstretched hand offered by her mother and turned abruptly away in order to hide her red eyes. "Perhaps I haven't got a heart," she said stiffly, "Perhaps you've never shown me how to have one." With those last bitter words, Adele literally ran from the room without a backward glance.

Later as she leaned against the door of her room, the tears finally came as she cried in remorse over her previous behavior and the secret her mother had so harshly wrung from her. A sharp knock on the door, however, acted as an abrupt disturbance and the voice of a servant announced a Monsieur Edouard Feuilly, Adele's tutor. Hastily wiping her face and hoping her eyes weren't too noticeably swollen, she descended down the steps. Monsieur Feuilly was very insistent on punctuality and today, she was simply not in the mood to face his wrath.

Raoul, on the other hand, did not hear the doormen announce the tutor for he having made a brave attempt in business matters that day, could now be found pacing outside of Christine's room. Telltale dark circles under his eyes foretold of his exhaustion from lack of sleep. And the door never before such a most hated, insurmountable gulf now ostracized him from his beloved and tormented him with unrelieved worry. Certainly even having to escape all over again from the phantom's lair was better than this long, empty wait. Because Christine had been there beside him and he could at least reassure himself of her existence; that she was not lost to him forever in the mad clutches of the phantom…

The door opened a crack ever so slowly and the surprised face of Doctor Gustave the de Chaney's family physician peeked through to behold a rumple-haired, wide-eyed Vicomte. "She is awake and wishes to see you," he said with a relieved smile, "Her condition has greatly improved though the nightmares will certainly take time to completely disappear. Take care and do not overwhelm her, Vicomte, for Mlle. Daae is still quite weak. I will back again before the week ends to check on her condition."

"Thank-you, Monsieur. I will heed your advice," and after grasping the doctor's hand in a hearty handshake, Raoul literally plummeted though the door in his haste.

Christine sat on a mahogany chair facing an open window where the doctor had evidently just finished examining her. She wore a long, white dressing gown and a slight breeze stirred her loose brown curls. Strands of sunlight filtered in from the flowing curtains served to further highlight her pale features and add a fragile, ethereal quality to Christine. She had evidently not heard Raoul come in for her head was turned from the door and she wore a certain wistful look.

"Christine?" whispered Raoul, feeling that he would disturb something truly sacred should he speak any louder. His heart broke over the thinness of her figure so evident now.

At the sound of his voice, she turned abruptly and the change in her was instantaneous. Out went the longing air replaced by one of utter relief and joy. "Raoul! Oh God, it's really you!" She leaped, unsure of what untapped reserve of energy now possessed her and he caught.

Kisses and a tight embraced were shared, tears wept, apologies and prayers offered, and the pair of lovers felt that after such a long and arduous journey, the reward was infinitely sweet and that no milestone in life as long as they had each other would ever prove undefeatable. So engrossed were Raoul and Christine in their blissful reunion that they failed to notice the presence of Anne in the room who found herself unable to restrain a drop or two from her own eyes as well in witness of this miracle. Anne, who somehow innately knew of their struggles, after hastily wiping her face made up an excuse to go the kitchen and left for a precious few moments the pair alone together.

"Oh Raoul, I had such awful dreams and when I woke up and couldn't find you beside me, I was so frightened. Promise never to leave my side again. Promise that you won't simply disappear and take the last light from my life." Christine gasped, clinging to her Raoul as to a lifesaver.

"I promise, my little Lotte, that I will stay by your side and protect you always. No dreams will ever plague you again nor will you ever shed another tear in sorrow if I can prevent it." Overcome with emotion, Raoul could only press Christine even closer to his heart. "I love you. I love you," he repeated over and over to her trembling form.

"I love you too, Raoul and to think that I feared that I might never tell you these words again,' she answered and released her grasp to look mournfully at her fiancé. For an instance, the haunted expression returned again to her face.

Raoul tried his best to soothe away her fears but felt deep down from his own emotional scars that only time itself could heal such intangible wounds. "You're safe now, Christine. You're safe," he simply whispered, laying Christine's head back onto his shoulder and smoothing away ruffled curls, "The darkness is behind us now and we have only a bright future and happy home to look forward too." At her still doubtful and tentative expression however, he added, "Do you remember, dearest, that as children we would buddle up some morsels from the kitchen and march up to the attic while pretending to be wayward pilgrims on a long journey? And how the attic would our paradise and there we held our glorious feasts?

Christine smiled and her blue eyes shone. "Yes, what fun times we always have there, particularly on rainy days when other children would be restless. I remember too how dear papa would be there sometimes to serenade us on his violin. He once discovering our amusement always jokingly called us his…"

"…little mismatched pair," both Raoul and Christine finished and burst out laughing. From the days of weariness that melted from the pair's eyes as they innocently reminisced over precious childhood memories, the idea of laughter as the best medicine seemed to indeed ring true.

"Well if you do not mind, perhaps my lady would permit me to ring up the cook and take our lunch on the floor today," said Raoul. He glanced at the large Persian carpet spread near the window and gave a merry wink, "I cannot promise little Lotte the attic for now but perhaps this will do just as well."

"Oh Raoul, our very own picnic!" and Christine smiled brightly, her face aglow with anticipation and color already starting to blossom on her cheeks. But she added as an afterthought more for his sake rather than her own, "Are you certain though that no one will mind or talk should they see us? After all, it does not at all seem like the thing to do and perhaps they will not understand."

Raoul shook his head and planted a kiss on Christine's brow, "Then we will lock the door and only permit Anne in. As long as I may see you completely well and happy again, I care naught for such idle gossip from others."

"Thank-you, Raoul," she could only murmur with emotion, feeling a divine sense of relief.

And so the plan was settled and flawlessly executed by both parties. The cook called upstairs from the kitchen concocted a plethora of delicacies to tempt the appetite of his new mistress, Anne was stationed across the hall to act as a sentinel to intruders though fortunately there was no real need, the door not locked but left ajar, and the pair indulged themselves in much laughter, conversation, and a sumptuous lunch. Raoul and Christine talked of many things that happy hour; of future plans, life at both the de Chagny mansion and the Opera Populaire, and friends and people they had known, particularly of Christine's father with whom the Vicomte still retained many fond memories of. There was one subject, however, that they both did not speak of but which continued to occupy a distant corner of their mind and acted like a grey fog, obscuring each peal of laughter with a certain tinge of gloom. It inevitably hung there since both were equally determined to evade the unpleasant subject.

Not once did they speak of the phantom or that fateful night of their escape.

**Thanks for Reading: **Hopefully that wasn't too fluffy for anyone out there. That Shakespearean sonnet in the beginning appeared in the 1994 Sense and Sensibility movie which I just loved and have always wanted to use as part of my writing. In some ways, it reminds me a lot of Raoul and Christine's relationship.

Much thanks to all those wonderful people out there (Anearin, Phantomphile, Kchan88, ObsessedPhantomPhan to name a few) for their continuous reviews which have inspired me to update so quickly. After this chapter though, I might take a small break but will try to write as much as I can before school starts which unfortunately would probably lead to a lack of time and motivation.


	6. Of Difficult Choices

**Chapter 5: Of Difficult Choices**

When Meg Giry was but eight years old, she had been visited by a ghost.

It had been a cold and rainy October day and having been stuck indoors after two hours of ballet practice; she was finally allowed a short reprieve. Meg and a young friend were immediately engaged in a rigorous game of hide-and-seek which ranged the wide expanse of the opera house. They had then gotten into a brief squabble over a very silly topic.

"No, I can find the best hiding spot," declared little Laura with a light skip.

"Oh don't be silly," replied Meg, "I have lived in this place all my life and know it from top to bottom. Of course, I know the best hiding spot and then you'll never be able to find me." And making an amusing face at Laura, she ran off to make reality of her declaration.

After considering all of her usual hiding spots and declaring them all unsuitable, she had decided to venture out onto something new. Several minutes passed by as Meg wedged herself into numerous crevices in her quest until luck would have it, she found a round hole in the ground of an old storage room. This curious object had a diameter of about two feet and was partially covered over with a metal grate. 'Aha!' thought the little sprite and lifting back the grate with much difficulty, discovered a long narrow ladder leading into the dimly-lit abyss. Now, Meg was normally a very sensible child but Laura's assertion provoked her and she was determined not to lose the bet at any cost.

Therefore without much thought for safety and full of courage, she rapidly descended down the ladder. It was indeed very dark when her foot touched the ground. Meg had to use her hands to feel against the slimy walls as she entered deeper and deeper into what appeared to be a tunnel.

As fate would have it, something sharp stuck out from the floor and consequently she tripped, fell on her face, and badly scrapped a knee. The jolt of pain was like a wake-up call for Meg and she realized that she was alone, perhaps lost in a dark place that could be literally filled with horrible man-eating monsters. Upon this terrible knowledge, Meg like many other little girls naturally would opened her mouth and begun to cry loudly for her mother. The small voice echoed emptily in the darkness.

She did not know how long she lay in that terrible, dank place; it very well seemed like an eternity to her short life. Until presently, she beheld a small flicker of light drifting very slowly ahead and heard the light sound of footsteps.

"Maman," Meg questioned, very much afraid, "Maman, is that you?"

"No," said the voice of a man who possessed both the light and the footsteps, "I am not your maman, child. Why have you come here?

The light which was really a candle was held towards Meg's face as the man apparently bent to study her. Meanwhile, she still could not discern his face and knew only that he was quite tall and wore a long, black cloak.

"Y-y-yes," stuttered the poor girl and poured out her little adventure at once, punctuated every now and then with a pathetic sob.

He listened to her patiently in silence. "It is dangerous down here and your mother would not approve should she find out. Come, I will take you back up."

With those words, Meg found herself promptly scooped up and carried back the way she had come. "What is your name?" she asked presently, no longer crying or so afraid anymore. "I'm Meg Giry," she offered.

A low, almost bitter chuckle came from the man. "Do you know that you're one of the first people to ask me that?" he said. "I do not remember my name but if it pleases you, you may call me Erik."

"Erik," repeated Meg. "It's a very nice name. Monsieur Erik, why are you here all by yourself?" continued her questions in the natural, unobtrusive way of a child. She listened to his long strides and strained by the small light of the candle held chest level to see her savior's face but still could make nothing out.

"I live here." he simply said.

"But it's so dark; don't you ever feel scared or lonely?"

"Sometimes," came the gruff reply. After a brief pause, "Yes, I suppose I do."

They had reached the opening by now and the man was helping little Meg up the ladder. "Carefully," he told her as she climbed on unsteady feet, "It can be slippery."

Meg nodded and with a deep sigh of relief finally reached the top where she blinked unsteadily from the burst of new light. "Thank-you, Erik." she called down the tunnel, seeing that his light still hung there, "Come visit me sometimes when you get lonely." There was no response and when she blinked again, the light was gone.

When she later told her mishap to Laura, her friend had declared that she had met none other than with a ghost.

"It couldn't be a ghost," said Meg with a firm shake of her head, "Ghosts aren't real, things can go through them like air, and I'd be scared to see one. He carried me all the way back and I wasn't at all afraid." She wanted to say instead that she believed the man to be her guardian angel but felt for some reason that Laura would simply not understand.

Madame Giry, on the other hand, after both in turns scolding and covering Meg with kisses of relief and who was now busy bandaging up the wounded knee, held the opinion that it was neither ghost nor angel. "My dear, the easiest explanation is that this guardian angel of yours is but a man who happened to hear your cry and gone down the tunnel to help. He could very well be anyone in the opera house this morning." With a gentle kiss on her daughter's brow to soothe her protestations, "Now, no more talk of this nonsense. I will permit you to rest for the next few days and take a break from your dancing lessons but you must promise me never, ever to go down that tunnel ever again. Heaven help me had I lost you!"

Meg nodded, "I promise, Maman." She saw the frightened, worried look on her mother's face and was very grieved and remorseful.

"Very good, my dear." And Madame Giry turned to hide the queer expression she now wore from her daughter.

Over the years, Meg had kept her promise to her mother and had never gone back down the tunnel; though some days afterwards she longed very much to see her new friend again. Several times, she had even secretly run off to look down the grated opening but never did see that same flickering light from a candle. It was bitterly disappointing to lose sight of a guardian angel but life went on for the little girl and the feeling gradually slipped away.

And so the years passed, Meg Giry grew older, left such self-indulgent beliefs aside, and adopted her mother's opinion that the man was after all only a passing, compassionate stranger who simply heard her cry for help. Upon reaching the age of eighteen, she had almost completely forgotten about the incident, where it slipped into the obscurity of childhood memories.

The present Meg Giry did not have her head full of childish fancies; the present Meg Giry was watching her mother's sheet-white complexion alternate between disbelief and excitement. Earlier, she had expected Madame Giry to call for the police when she finished telling of her little adventure at the marketplace and the man in the barn but certainly not this strange reaction.

"It cannot be…" murmured Madame Giry, shaking her head after listening to her daughter's story. "No, it's impossible…" She stopped her frantic pacing just long enough to look intently into Meg's eyes as if to uncover the absolute truth, "Are you certain that you did not ask for his name? That you say he has a much disfigured face and wore a long black cloak? But no mask…no mask…" she trailed off in an inaudible undertone and resumed pacing.

She nodded mutely suddenly afraid of her mother's incomprehensible behavior. "I am sure of every word I have said. But please Maman, why do you ask such things? Are we to call for the police?" Meg who was utterly confused and frustrated at that, placed both of her hands on her mother's shoulders and stilled the elder woman.

"There is no need for the police," said Madame Giry resolutely, "If your description is accurate then I know this man." She clasped her hands together and a torrent of emotions brought tears to her eyes. 'But Oh God, how did he survive? What twist of fate has brought him here by the hands of my own daughter? Am I to take this as a blessing or a curse?" In her revelry, she seemed to scarcely see Meg standing there at all.

"Maman, you're overwhelmed. I will go fetch Pierre or Mme Arlette…" Meg replied, gazing at her normally so tranquil but now raving mother and ready to rush for assistance. _I shouldn't have told her all this so suddenly…Now I have done even more harm than before. _

At Meg's voice, Madame Giry seemed to be taken back into reality. She looked at her daughter with motherly pity and took her gently by the hand. "Dearest, it is finally time that I reveal something very important to you. Listen to this story well and interrupt me with no questions or comments until I am finished." With a weary sigh, "I had hoped to spare you of this and that is why I hid this secret. It is a mistake and fate has made me see my delusions. Forgive me, Marguerite."

Only twice in her life had she ever heard her mother call her 'Marguerite', once when she had fallen from a very tall tree in a reckless and rather unladylike attempt to climb it and lay with a broken leg; the doctor had hinted she may never walk let alone dance again and her mother who was frantic with grief and worry, had carried her tenderly into the house, murmuring her full first name…and this, this was the second time. So immediately, Meg knew the serious nature of the situation and prepared her heart for whatever came next. Seating herself in a chair before her daughter, Madame Giry proceeded.

Upon relating the unbiased story of her first meetings with the boy-later-man called Erik and his rescue from the circus, Madame Giry had expected her to react with much horror or at least pity and yet she was not prepared for the blank expression Meg consistently wore. Her daughter was very pale when Madame Giry ceased to speak and betrayed little emotion; until that is her mother looked up with surprise and saw silent tears rolling down the corners of Meg's eyes.

"Oh my darling…" cried Madame Giry brokenly and clasped her daughter in a tight embrace, "Do not hesitate to speak openly with me of your thoughts Your maman has made many mistakes in her lifetime and though is truly repentant; she does not soon expect her daughter to pardon her. Be angry at me, Meg, scold, shout, anything if you must. I deserve it all for destroying so many lives and putting others in danger for a weakness of the heart."

"Maman, ever since I was twelve years old and first learned of the story of the Phantom of the Opera, I had always believed it was just that-a tale originally designed to frighten small children and that later grew into something of a legend. I see now that I am wrong." Meg paused, inhaled deeply, and returned her mother's hug with a strained smile and tears still in her eyes. "There is nothing to forgive. You did what you did, saved and sheltered a poor abused child, out of the kindness of your heart without regard for personal safety. Surely, there is no nobler act, one more deserving of reward rather than punishment in the eyes of God." She continued, "Had I been in your shoes, I believe I too would have done the same thing."

"Thank you Meg for these precious words. Do you know that my greatest fear in life should a day arise when I must involve you in all this was that I should earn your everlasting regret and disgust?" cried Madame Giry overcome. "Though I do not fear the judgment of others, I could never bear disappointing my only child."

Meg shook her head, "I am only disappointed in the realization of just how cruel society can be."

"But what of Erik, of the phantom, do you hate him?" Madame Giry swallowed heavily and took her daughter's hand, "He has done many horrible deeds and a person's past cannot completely justify his current actions."

"I ought to hate him for causing so much fear and suspicion at the Opera Populaire. I ought to hate him for the heinous crimes, the murders he had committed, for attempting to kidnap Christine and causing both her and Raoul so much heartache. And I ought to hate him for destroying all of our possessions, our home, the memories and time spent at the opera house that can never be truly recovered." More tears spilt from Meg's eyes as she spoke in a vehement tone. "And now I find…" she sighed, "…that I do indeed abhor him in many ways."

"There is little justification for the evil he has committed. They are inexcusable even to me." Madame Giry turned her head away. "However, I cannot deny that I do not admire his talents, that I still do not hold feelings of protective regard for him still. The poor, wretched soul…"

'He is but a man, a man named Erik…the phantom of the opera was never really a phantom but a mortal being, living flesh like the rest of us and Maman had known all along…' repeated the thought in poor Meg's mind. Surprisingly, she was truly not angry at her mother's lies and secrets though she knew she ought to have been. Instead during the dark moments when her entire life seemed turned upside down, Meg Giry groped desperately for a light. "I hate him but I pity him more," she finished softly to the astonishment of her mother.

That was how on the following day after a sleepless night for both, Madame Giry had gone alone to the barn to find that the mysterious man as can be expected was indeed Erik, remained there for an hour, and came back to the parlor alone where Meg was describing and obtaining permission from Mme. Arlette for a possible "visit" from an old acquaintance. A good-natured lady though a bit of an invalid and extremely nearsighted, Mme. Arlette had immediately agreed and extolled her pleasure that this friend of theirs would be able to view her garden once the snow melted that spring.

Meg and Madame Giry had discussed (and debated) the possible options to pursue for the man in the barn. They could very well call for the police and Erik would either be hung straightaway or left to die in a mental asylum; they could leave him alone which would very well also lead to death by suicide; lastly they could offer him temporary shelter upon obtaining a promise of cooperation and restraint and thereby attempt to remedy society's previous treatment of the man. Being that the third option did not involve a gruesome demise, Meg and Madame Giry settled upon it. But only, on the assumption that they also offered up these choices to the ex-phantom of the opera himself.

"He wants to die," said Madame Giry quite bluntly as she sat privately with her daughter upon her return, "I have tried everything from reason to morality and he simply will not listen. He has informed me that after the loss of Christine, he no longer has the will to live and cannot face the world any longer. I told him he was free to go anytime and gave him some supplies. There is nothing further that we can do."

Meg was very angry. "It was his own decision then after all," she said simply and turned away.

The next day, Meg slipped out to the barn carrying a small wrapped package and found uneven footsteps leading away from the entrance. A still warm dent in the straw of the loft and a bundle of provisions remained. Upon following these track marks without much trouble half a kilometer away, she almost stumbled directly into Erik covered in snow, half-frozen, and pathetically huddled under an icy tree. He looked up at her and she gazed down at him; green clashed with blue.

"Oh you stubborn, stubborn man," said Meg, unwrapping the package and tossing the white mask at his feet.

The expression on his face clearly betrayed Erik's astonishment as he picked up the mask with trembling fingers. "Where did you find this?"

"Never mind that for now," replied Meg. "Come out of the cold to the house. Or will you have me freeze here in the snow beside you?" In saying so, she threw herself onto the ground and sat very composedly next to him.

Try as he might and genius as he was, Erik could neither fathom nor explain the behavior of this most unique personality which nearly rivaled his own. "Why?" he had to ask, "After all that I have done, why do you care what becomes of my fate?" A look of wonder appeared.

"Because," answered Meg tilting her head to look fixedly at his mask-less face without a flinch, "There was once a little girl who wandered down and got lost in a very dark, very frightening place. An angel with a candle heard her cries for help and brought her all the way back up to the light. Though that girl never saw him again, she remembered that her savior's name was Erik." Meg smiled and her golden hair gleamed in the setting sun, "I am only returning an act of kindness."

That night for dinner and fortunately Mme Arlette was upstairs having gone to bed early, Giselle the maid found herself preparing an extra plate of food.

**Thanks for Reading: **Wow, I'd said that I might be slowing down in my updates but this chapter simply begged to be written down. Looks like my muse hasn't run dry yet; it's either that or my incredibly boring internship this summer. Anyways, this chapter is a bit longer than what I usually will write. Please leave a review and tell me what you think so far: am I being too descriptive? If so don't worry, I'll try to hasten the passage of time in my story soon. These few chapters are only to set the background situation after the destruction of the opera house.

Also I have changed the title of the story from "Angel of Music" to "New Beginnings" since it seems more fitting. Hope it doesn't confuse anyone.


	7. A Funeral

**Chapter 6: A Funeral**

It was a surprisingly warm, muggy day. Somber clouds obscured any hope of sunlight and brought the threat of rain on the dwindling piles of melting snow. In many ways, the weather was very befitting, for nearing the de Chagny estate one could clearly see a dispersing group of people all clad in black.

They had been gathered there to bid farewell to a Philippe de Chagny that January afternoon. Christine, having just recently recovered from a debilitating fever, had insisted on attending the funeral against protestations from both doctor and Raoul. She had never really met or known much of apart from rumors of this elder de Chagny brother but had felt the pull of an unspeakable obligation. Now with her head covered in a filmy veil and wearing a plain black velvet dress, she leaned wearily against Raoul whose own face had remained surprisingly impassive throughout the entire service.

It had all taken place in a blur of events: the priest had delivered a simple but moving oration and afterwards four men including Raoul had lifted the stone coffin into the family mausoleum. She noticed that Raoul was also the last one to make his exit. "I had to say a few last words to my brother," he later told her. Christine had smiled her understanding and tightened her hold on his arm.

After placing their single long-stemmed white roses at the entrance of the tomb, friends and relatives had drifted by to offer their condolences to Raoul. They had looked curiously at Christine and perhaps not without a little suspicion.

She was very pale and kept her eyes timidly lowered. Feelings of guilt were consuming her. _It's my fault that Raoul lost his brother, that I will never know a brother-in-law._ Philippe had gone to look for Raoul that fateful night and the small rowboat had accidentally flipped over in the underground lake, leading to a watery demise. At least that was what was being written in the newspaper. But Christine was tormented with the thought that this was perhaps no accident at all and of the phantom's involvement. She knew that Raoul suspected as well but that for her sake he never voiced his reservations. On such topics, they remained estranged and silent.

"Come, my dear, it is starting to drizzle," said Raoul and Christine mentally awoke to the fact that small drops were indeed raining from the sky. By now the grounds were already mostly empty as many mourners were either strolling back to their carriages or the de Chagny mansion where some would be staying overnight.

They had not yet held a public announcement of their engagement (Though Raoul's closest family and friends already knew.) out of respect for Philippe and had agreed to do so several weeks after the funeral. But somehow, news had already circulated throughout most of upper-class Paris that the younger Vicomte de Chagny was now living under the same roof with an opera girl. This was a great scandal and Christine had wanted to remedy it by suggesting that she stay with Madame Giry and Meg in the meantime.

Raoul would not hear of it. "Let society indulge in idle gossip if it wishes," he had scoffed and then had turned to Christine with a protective look. "They do not understand that the only opinions I truly value is of yours, of my family and loyal friends. Do not worry, love, for with time will come acceptance and people will see the treasure that I am lucky enough to hold in my arms everyday."

Christine had been truly touched by this little speech and resolved with all her heart not to fail Raoul; to very soon make him an accomplished charming wife.

And that was why despite her fatigue and sorrow that night after the funeral, she had not gone to bed as both Raoul and Adele afterwards urged but decided instead to play hostess to the mourners who would be remaining. The memorial service in Philippe's honor was meant by Raoul to be a small private gathering. Yet somehow word had once again gotten out that a will was recently revised and a vast number of people, from third cousins twice-removed to family friends poor Raoul could not even recognize but who nevertheless heartily embraced him, arrived hopeful for a share. And of course, he had not the heart to turn anyone away.

There was a flurry of activity not entirely suitable for after a funeral. Christine felt in her innocence after retiring to cool her aching head in the empty library that she had done very well. She had exchanged respectful words with everyone, agreed to the wonderful things said about poor Philippe with respectful nods, and had put on a mask of smiling deception. She even thought Mme de Chagny who was surrounded by a throng of admirers perfectly charming and admirable. Raoul would certainly be proud.

What Christine had not seen, however, were those scornful looks replacing previously gracious ones when she turned away; the words "the opera girl who has taken in poor naïve Raoul" spoken in low tones. Most of all, Christine had not seen the worried expression on her fiancé's face as he looked across the room at her flushed cheeks and unnaturally bright eyes.

"Christine," he had asked her in a rare moment alone, "Are you certain that you feel well enough for all this? Perhaps it would be best for you to retire early tonight and not overexert yourself."

She had answered impatiently, "Do not worry for me, Raoul. I assure you that I feel perfectly fine."

He had nodded with almost a hurt look before immediately being taken possession of by a very vociferous cousin who recently turned colonel in the army.

Steps presently interrupted Christine's reflections and looking up, she saw Adele approach bearing a glass of iced water.

"Raoul sent me to check up on you. How are you, dear?" Adele asked kindly. She set the glass down on a nearby table.

Christine had learned from Raoul that his cousin Adele and her parents would be staying at the de Chagny mansion for several months as they did every winter. Springs, summers, and falls, they spent at their estate in Lyon. During the last few weeks because of her illness, Christine and Adele had had little opportunity to speak with one another. But based already on what she had already seen in Adele, of her open and unassuming manners, she truly felt a sort of kinship already starting to grow towards this mild-mannered girl.

"Thank-you," as Christine accepted the glass. "I'm afraid that I'm more tired than I've let on," she admitted wearily.

"I'm very sorry to hear that." said Adele, looking concerned, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Sit and talk with me, dear, if you can spare the time. You have been so kind to me already," answered Christine, stretching out a grateful hand to her companion.

Adele smiled her assent. And for the next half an hour, the two women chatted quite familiarly of many matters, exchanged stories, and felt afterwards that they had much in common.

"Really?" cried Christine with a laugh, "Raoul tried to climb up your bedroom window using a ladder?"

"Yes," said Adele giggling likewise, "It was very kind of him to attempt to smuggle up a piece of cake for me after Martha punished me for tearing my second dress of the day. However, I believe later falling from this same ladder and breaking his ankle did not at all help my predicament."

"Promise me however," she continued, "that you won't tell him that I ever mentioned this to you. He was greatly embarrassed by the incident and I don't believe has ever really recovered."

Christine had a merry twinkle in her eye for the little chat acted as a wonderful distraction. "Not a word," she vowed teasingly.

She was just in the process of telling Adele of her and Raoul's first meeting at the seaside when a pair of approaching footsteps interrupted them. It was the elder Vicomte de Chagny, Adele's father, flanked by a man of about five and thirty years old. Curious, Christine studied the profile of this man and afterwards could describe him by no less than of being extremely handsome. He was obviously still in his prime and possessed a dark profile and a well-built brow with waves of dark hair streaked very elegantly with grey. He was tall beside the stout, portly figure of Adele's father and slimly built like Raoul. But what was most distinguishable about this man and what Christine at once noticed was a pair of emerald green eyes. They were a most unique color, mercurial as a storm, and held a glimmer of some suppressed emotion.

"Christine, my dear," said the elder Vicomte de Chagny, grinning jovially, "Meet my dear old friend, the Baron Jean-Pierre Follet, who has been asking me about a certain ravishing lady this evening. We served in the army for several years together." He beamed in pleasure as Christine extended her hand and Jean-Pierre kissed it.

"It is a great pleasure," remarked the baron with a faint smile, still retaining hold of her hand. There was a hint of a German accent in his voice.

Adele immediately rose from the couch and murmuring something about needing a breath of fresh air on the patio, departed without another word. Christine noticed that she wore a rather troubled look and wanted to go after her.

"She must be tired. The funeral has been a grave event for all of us." said the elder Vicomte with a worried glance at the retreating figure of his daughter, "I will go speak with her and be back shortly. Stay here until I return please." And he hurried off, leaving both Jean-Pierre and Christine quite alone. She commented after a brief pause at his accent and afterwards of the weather but to both Jean-Pierre only answered her very languidly and with little interest: yes, his mother was from Germany; he had spent his childhood there and that it did look like spring would arrive soon.

"I hope you will not think me too forward," said the baron presently, "But I must admit that I was a faithful admirer of your singing at the Opera Populaire."

Christine smiled and tried to hide her discomfort. Of all the subjects to mention, fate would have it that he should speak of the subject she least wanted to be reminded of. "I am so glad that you were able to attend my performances."

"How could I not?" said the baron eagerly, "They were absolutely magnificent; far surpassing those of a former Mlle. Carlotta, I believe. It is a great tragedy, however, that at the height of your career the opera house should be burnt to the ground." He shook his head as if to emphasize his grief.

"Yes," she echoed, "A grave tragedy."

"Do you intend to sing anymore?" he pressed, leaning slightly forward.

"Not professionally," replied honest Christine, "I have no intention at present to perform at another opera house. But among family and friends of course, that is a different matter.

"Then you must sing for me sometime. I look forward to it," leaning still uncomfortably closer.

Fortunately, she was spared from making any answer when looking up, Christine saw Raoul at the entrance of the library. She promptly rose, excused herself, and went to her fiancé feeling strangely flushed and out of breath.

"Who is your new acquaintance?" asked Raoul as he peered curiously at the still seated baron.

"Oh, just an old friend of Adele's father; he introduced us," said Christine hurriedly, feeling as if she had been rescued from something. "I think that I will be going to bed now, Raoul, and must bid you a good-night. Promise that you'll get some rest yourself soon; it has been a long day for all us and surely everyone will understand," with a sharp look at the shamelessly smiling faces of remaining guests.

Raoul smiled tiredly, "I promise. Sleep well, my Little Lotte." He leaned down to give her a customary kiss on the mouth but was instead rewarded with a turned cheek.

"Just for tonight…" said Christine, referring to the many pairs of eyes watching. They exchanged chaste pecks and she left her fiancé looking wistfully upwards as she ascended the stairs.

Back in her room and after Anne had helped her undress, Christine finally allowed herself to succumb to her exhaustion. There was a small, locked trunk kept hidden under a folded gown and from there, she extracted a vial and measured out several drops. It was a sleeping draught that supposedly could lure one into a dreamless slumber. At the opera house, Christine had seen girls nervous before a certain performance or audition take such a thing and knew its potency. She also knew of its dangers upon accidental overdose from the pharmacist. Without doubt, Raoul would not approve should he find out.

But tonight, Christine did not care. Tonight, she did not need bitter dreams of a certain masked man haunting her sleep, the voice of an angel echoing in her mind, and the thoughts of a man she had driven to madness, had helped destroy plaguing her thoughts. No, tonight of all nights, she wanted simply to sleep and to forget.

The bitter drops worked its charm and a tingling heaviness slowly pervaded her limbs. Her weariness highlighted the softness of the bedding and she felt delightfully warm and perfectly at ease. In this drifting state between sleep and consciousness, she half-fancied there was an ever-widening stream of yellow light coming from her bedroom door. A figure slipped through and was standing there smiling by the foot of her bed.

"Raoul," she whispered in her delirious state, "Raoul…"

The creature half bathed in light and half hidden in the darkening shadows remained there for a few more minutes as if in silent contemplation. There was the same knowing smile on its lips.

Then just as suddenly as the apparition had appeared, the door closed softly and it was gone.

**Thanks for Reading: **Hope that was enjoyable. Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far.


	8. Shifting Perceptions

**Author's Notes**: Sorry, it seemed fanfiction was experiencing some glitches earlier and so I was unable to submit this. Anyways, enjoy this new chapter and have a wonderful weekend! Remember to leave a review if you have a moment and let me know what you think.

**Chapter 7: Shifting Perceptions**

For the next week, both Meg and Madame Giry truly believed that Erik's desire for death would eventually become a reality. They with permission from Madame Arlette had placed him in the guest bedroom directly adjacent to a small sitting room where he inevitably succumbed to a steadily worsening fever. A village doctor after four days was brought in to check on Erik's condition; a doctor who was professional enough and had seen enough deformities in his lifetime not to grimace more than once at his patient's face. The man had come armed with a stethoscope, a jar full of leeches, and other tools of his trade which remained unidentifiable to Meg.

He had left before the hour was done, gravely shaking his head. "I'm sorry to upset you, Mme Giry (addressing himself to Meg's mother), but I own that your friend's fever is indeed very serious and steadily rising. His condition is aggravated by what seems to be a combination of exposure, rather severe wounds, and you mentioned yourself a melancholy temperament. You must prepare yourself." Handing her a prescription to be filled at a pharmacy in Paris, he left with a solemn look and promised to be back shortly.

Although her mother had instructed her to stay away from the room in case the illness was infectious, Meg Giry had been secretly listening at the door. She found herself overcome with guilt upon hearing the prognosis. Had she told Maman earlier instead of leaving him in the barn, surely Erik would not be in this predicament…he would not have been forced to withstand a bitter snowstorm in a freezing barn nor had his bandages been changed properly would his wounds have festered. _He would not be lying there dying a cruel death if not for me…_

So caught up was Meg in her self-effacement that she did not see Madame Giry come out of the room and stumble upon her daughter huddled in the hall. "Do not blame yourself, my dear. We can only hope for the best," said her mother with a knowingly look at Meg's distraught face. She made no comments on her eavesdropping but instead handed her daughter the prescription.

At the pharmacist, luck or lack thereof for that matter would have it that Meg run into no one other than the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny himself and his chauffeur.

"Mlle Giry…I mean Meg (upon seeing Meg's teasing frown after she had insisted many times that he address her informally), it is wonderful to see you again! How is your mother?" Raoul called to her cheerily after bowing.

"Maman is very well and we are all settling in very comfortably at the cottage," said Meg, trying to stifle a guilt conscience and failing miserably. "It's been a tremendous adjustment but we have much to be thankful for. How are you, Raoul? And Christine, she is much better, yes?"

Raoul smiled, "Christine has been out of bed since yesterday and words cannot describe my joy and relief for that. She has been worrying about you and your mother and will be very glad to hear such news. Which reminds me, Meg; you both must come and visit us very soon."

Poor Meg, trying to keep her voice steady, was on the verge of blurting out everything to Raoul. She could not look into his kind eyes and trusting smile without feeling the pang of betrayal. Inwardly, however, she quavered at the thought of the tempest of fresh grief which would be unleashed upon her confession. 'No, it was too soon…' Meg thought mentally giving herself a good shake, "…let them be happy for as long as possible.'

Thus staring attentively at the ground, she apologized for their negligence and promised a call the following week. The two then parted shortly; Raoul feeling that Meg did not seem at all well despite her claims and she feeling as if she had murdered some innocent thing and buried the evidence.

Back at the cottage, Meg told her mother of their promised visit. "I did not tell Raoul of…" she paused, "of Erik. It would cause them both such sorrow which I cannot bear to inflict at this time. Maman, do you believe that I have done right by this?"

"It is a terrible thing to lie to friends," Madame Giry replied in a soft tone, "But at present, I truly believe keeping silent is indeed for the best."

"I know," said Meg with a sigh. She picked furiously at the bit of embroidery in her lap.

"But we cannot hide Erik from the outside world forever nor would he let us," continued her mother neglecting to mention what was both on their minds of _should he even live_, "We will tell Raoul and Christine at a later time; a time that will perhaps lessen the full impact of the news."

It seemed a very ambitious and hopeful thought to Meg for when was this proper moment if it even existed at all? When should one reveal to one's friends that a man who had almost destroyed their lives was now living under one's roof? But she did not voice her protest.

The next day, Meg was busy reading in the sitting room right outside of Erik's room when there came a muffled, pained groan. Now just then Madame Giry was at market, Madame Arlette upstairs napping as was her custom at that time of the afternoon, and Pierre busy in the garden. She thought about running alone to fetch the doctor but he had just so recently come and gone again; the same hopeless look in his grey eyes. 'Perhaps there is something I can do for him,' thought Meg though a harsher notion entered her mind. _He might even be dying and to leave any man to die alone..._

For these reasons mingled with pity and curiosity, Meg was compelled to gently push open the door to Erik's room.

He was lying in a state of severe delirium among rumpled sheets. Beads of sweat adorned his naked forehead and his lips trembled as he fought uncontrollable chills. She noticed that the curtains were partially open and a beam of sunlight touched the right side of his face. The little ridges and folds of ugly torn flesh were therefore harshly illuminated for her eyes while the rest of him was ironically hidden in afternoon shadows. Until that moment, Meg Giry was never more aware of the mortality of mankind as when the creature formerly known as the invincible Phantom of the Opera lay so exposed and fragile before her. Death lay watchful and lurking in the room.

"Erik," she whispered, afraid to break the stifling silence of the room. And as if having uttered some sort of a magic incantation, glazed green eyes slowly opened and rolled towards her.

"My angel, have you at last come for me?" he murmured and stretched out a feeble hand. The expression on his face spoke volumes for what he had not the strength to say.

Meg felt herself teetering on the edge of some dark abyss, uncertain of the truth and frightened of being flung into the obscurity below. She did not know what madness next came over her other than the strongest desire to comfort this poor pathetic creature. Almost mechanically, she tentatively reached forward and grasped his hand in her own smaller one. "Yes, I've come to save you, Erik."

"There is no salvation for me," he rasped through parched lips.

"There is," his angel replied, "There is if you want it desperately enough."

He moaned and tried to hide himself from the beam of light shining upon his face. "But the world is cruel and I am tired, angel," he admitted. Meg Giry had come to gaze upon the face of the feared phantom and instead found what little amounted to a broken man with the altering passions of a child.

She turned her face away from his unfocused gaze and trembled, unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "Then you are weak and a coward," his angel replied vehemently, "life itself is full of trials and tribulations but people do not simply lie down and die as a result."

"But Christine-she was my only salvation, I have nothing left..." He held fast to her hand as if to a lifeline in the midst of a raging storm.

"You still have your talent, your ambitions, and life which remain invaluable," she replied, "And I believe that Christine would not have wanted you to die for her. She would have wanted you to live and find redemption and happiness if you are willing."

Meg did not know if Erik heard her last words for his hand had slipped from hers and she saw from the steady rise and fall of his chest that once again he had fallen asleep. Softly with the door closed behind her, she paused to wipe away the tears which now fell.

Later when Madame Giry came home and found her daughter sitting calmly with a book in the library, when the doctor came back and declared that he had seen nothing short of a miracle upon the remarkable recovery, when Mme. Arlette asked about the pensive expression on her face, Meg revealed her conversation with Erik to no one.

"Well, it seems our friend has found the will to live after all," remarked Madame Giry two days later as she and her daughter stood in the garden together. Meg simply smiled her agreement which Mme Giry failed to observe.

Four more days passed in relative peace until that is one of the maids went into Erik's room to change his bandages and came back shrieking that he was gone. Immediately, there was a tumult in the household for indeed all they could discover was an indentation in the bedding where Erik had last lain.

"He could not have intended to go far," observed Meg after a thorough search of the house and gardens, "His mask and cloak are still here." Both objects were indeed laid neatly on a chair by the window.

Madame Giry's eyes went wide with suddenly a horrific new thought. "Christine! Meg, you do not think that he…" she could not bring herself to finish the sentence which they both felt.

Meanwhile, her daughter was already putting on her shawl and calling for Pierre. "Then I must go and warn them," Meg said very resolutely. Scarcely had she flung open the door then she gave a startled little gasp; for outlined in silver against the backdrop of leafless trees, stood no one other than the missing man himself.

"Erik, where have you gone off to?" demanded Madame Giry upon seeing him mask less and strolling very calmly towards the front porch.

"A walk," he said, his face lowered, "I needed a breath of fresh air and went for a walk in the woods." He seemed very calm as if it was indeed nothing more than just a mundane afternoon stroll through the park, as if they had not just spent the day looking in every room and even in the wardrobes for him, as if they had not even asked Pierre to drive them to the old Opera Populaire thinking he might be there.

"And yet you thought it unnecessary to tell us beforehand?" continued Madame Giry. She had her arms crossed, was standing very stiffly, and had the resemblance of a ruffled mother hen.

"My apologies, Antoinette, for the needless worry that I have caused. I will keep you informed of my constant whereabouts from now on," Erik bowed to Madame Giry's scowling face.

Had Meg, who was standing silently in the foyer with her shawl still half on, not known any better she would have burst out laughing at the absurdity of the scene.

Later that night with Erik joining them for the first time for supper in the dining room, she was met with the same feeling of surprise. Truly Meg had not known what to expect from the former Phantom of the Opera. Did he even eat normal foods? If so, what were his table manners? Was he capable of human interaction, of civilized conversation? To say that she expected Erik to hurl food left and right while raving gibberish, to threaten to strangle everyone with his Punjab lasso at the table would to Meg's later shame not be too far from the truth.

Thankfully, Erik did nothing of the sort. He was to her surprise and even a little suspicion perfectly civil though always retaining that slight air of caustic sarcasm. Having donned his mask at dinner, he was attentive to both Madame Arlette and to her mother. To Meg, he said absolutely nothing but only glanced at her curiously from time to time. She wondered if he even remembered their little conversation in the sickroom; if Erik truly believed he had seen an angel. Well whatever were his later reflections, she was simply glad that he did not raise the subject again.

"Thank-you, dear Mme," Erik had said with a smile to Madame Arlette, "for allowing me to remain in your lovely home and for bestowing upon me your care. I am very grateful."

Madame Arlette had thought him a truly sweet man, astonishingly did not wonder at all at his strange mask, and earnestly pressed him to stay as long as possible. "I would hear of no protestations, Monsieur Erik, if you did not at least remain long enough to see my garden in full bloom this summer. It is absolutely heavenly and you will have seen nothing of the like elsewhere. Do you not agree, Sophia?" turning to her maid who was just then serving the salad.

After dinner, the party dispersed and Meg had time to draw her mother aside to have a small tête-à-tête with her.

"Meg, you seemed to have let your imagination run away from you." And Madame Giry could not hide a mild chuckle after hearing her daughter's confusion.

"No…I mean yes," said Meg blushing slightly, "It's just that I hadn't thought Erik would act so…so…" She struggled to find the right word.

"So ordinary?" finished Madame Giry and smiled. "You forget that I have known and cared for him since he was a small boy and only just very recently did his behavior change so radically. I would in no way have let him stay here or sheltered him for all these years if I had truly thought him what the world has always believed him to be: a monster."

Meg sighed but still remained unconvinced. 'Perhaps,' she thought heading to the library, 'finishing up that pamphlet by Sir Robert would distract me.' She had recently attended a series of lectures by this well-esteemed though controversial English philosopher when he made his appearance in Paris. Meg had found his work rather bland but felt proud and even vain of a certain liberal-mindedness in continuing to read them. She naively fancied herself a very intellectual and very innovative woman for doing so. Although there was much already she disagreed with in his latest booklet "Music and Meaning".

Imagine Meg's surprise then upon entering the library to find Erik calmly sitting there in one corner with a disgusted look and Sir Robert's pamphlet in one hand. She would have hurried away and left him in peace had he not looked up, seen Meg, and beckoned to her. She stepped forward feeling as if she had lost control of her limbs.

"I want your opinion on this, this filth." said he, dangling the pamphlet haphazardly.

Now Meg as already mentioned herself agreed with little of Sir Robert's opinions but to hear her philosopher so criticized and bluntly dismissed was like a personal blow to herself. "It is not filth," said Meg, snatching the booklet away and ready to defend the slighted work to the death, "Have you even read this yourself?"

"I have," replied Erik, "And feel that this Sir Roberts of yours has no more originality of thought than a gorilla." There was a sardonic smile on his face as he looked at Meg which greatly provoked her and stripped away any diffidence.

"You didn't have to read it then," she retorted. Nevertheless Meg was curious, "Why do you say that though?"

"Because this man maintains that music is created from the soul of humanity in the first chapter."

"And I agree," said Meg simply, holding onto the booklet with both hands.

"As would many other unthinking, unfeeling individual," Erik went on with the same keen, mocking glance, "Music has existed long before society. We cannot claim to have created it for what already subsists in all of nature before the dawn of man."

She swallowed and ignored the insult. "But that is based on faulty logic since what is music without an audience to hear it?"

And somehow very gradually, their discussion turned to evolution vs. creationism from Charles Darwin's just lately released piece which was now all the latest controversy. On this topic, they again differed in opinion.

"I believe it is possible to believe in God and yet still respect and consider Monsieur Darwin's book as well," said Meg who now found herself settled down on an armchair though very careful to keep a good distance away. "Do you not agree?" she asked.

He merely shook his head, "That is grand notion is but a senseless dream nevertheless for those of us who no longer have the capacity to believe in a God." There was surprisingly no bitterness in his tone of voice but only that of weariness and resignation.

Meg was very surprised. "But you believe in angels, am I correct?" She was conscious of crossing a great line but could not suppress this question.

"I did once, a very long time ago it seems. I was foolish then," said Erik. Obviously he did not remember what he had envisioned and called Meg in two separate occasions.

She had a great longing to offer some words of comfort to him but could find none that seemed suitable enough. Instead in her own frank, confiding way which was much more effective than Meg realized, she simply placed her hand on top of his which rested on the arm of his chair and said quietly, "It's never foolish to believe in something."

He exhaled deeply as their hands made contact but made no other response. From the corner where he sat partially bathed in shadows, Meg could make out Erik's eyes glistening in the darkness.

She stood up abruptly; suddenly nervous of his intense gaze, of the easy way they had just spoken with one another. She had forgotten herself in her eagerness as she was wont to do and her head spun. With another man, Meg Giry would have thought nothing of the matter but this was different, this person was a masked, perhaps deranged lunatic who burnt down the Opera Populaire and heaven knows had done what else. This fact she had to constantly remind herself of before uttering a brief good-night and proceeding up the stairs to her room. She did not see but somehow could feel his continued, watchful gaze upon her face as she made her exit.

The pamphlet was still clutched in Meg's hand when the door was safely closed behind her. But when attempting to finish it, she ended up tossing the thing away with a very familiar look of disgust. Erik was right; Sir Roberts indeed had no originality of thought at all.

Meg wanted to curse that exasperating creature for so dramatically swaying her views.

**Thanks for Reading: **This chapter was fun to write but also extremely difficult since I had a hard time portraying Erik. -sighs- I need to read some EC fanfics and pick up some ideas. Well, hopefully he didn't come out too OOC. Also Sir Roberts and his pamphlet were completely made up by me.


	9. Intertwined Fates

**Author's Notes: **This chapter will shift point-of-views so hopefully it won't be confusing. Just a heads-up. Enjoy!

**Chapter 8: Intertwined Fates**

A strange man was announced that day at the de Chagny estate; an old man dressed in a long grey coat and toting a large blackened trunk. He was swept in as mysteriously and suddenly as the clear blue sky that winter day.

"Excuse me, Vicomte," announced the doorman at the entrance to Raoul's office, "But there is a man at the door with what he says to be an important delivery for both you and the lady of the house."

Raoul looked up from his rather messy pile of paper work and nodded, "I will be right down."

Meanwhile a maid likewise had called for Christine who was in the garden with Anne. The couple met in the vestibule and proceeded into the sitting room where the stranger was currently situated. Lost amid the splendors of the furnishing and looking very much out of place, the old man gawked foolishly at Raoul and Christine.

Raoul bowed politely," May we help you in anyway, Monsieur?"

"Yes, my name is Arthur Dupont and I believe I have found something which belongs to a Mlle Christine Daae. It was excavated with that name inscribed inside amid the remains of the old Opera Populaire earlier this week and I have taken the liberty to find and return it to the owner." He gestured to the trunk.

"Oh Raoul, could it be?" said Christine and tentatively she ventured forth and undid the broken clasp. "My God, I thought I had lost this forever! This is wonderful!" she exclaimed at seeing the contents inside. A bright smile at once lit up her face as Christine rushed to thank and embrace the surprised Arthur Dupont.

Though both Raoul and Christine offered monetary rewards for the lucky discovery of the priceless trunk, the kindly old man was equally insistent in accepting nothing but their gratitude in words. "It was fate that willed me to see it sticking up from the poor wreckage. And to see that lovely smile on Mlle Daae's face is thanks enough for me." He left soon afterwards but not before whispering with a merry twinkle in his eye, "Take care of her; you're a very lucky man," to the Vicomte.

Raoul simply smiled before the door closed, "Yes, I am truly blessed everyday."

Christine, meanwhile, had rushed back to the momentarily forgotten delivery and was now rummaging excitedly through it. "I feel like a little girl on Christmas day again, "she exclaimed to her fiancé, "This trunk is where I kept my childhood items, memories in and which I most grieved for among all of my possessions lost in the fire."

Raoul sat down beside her and amusedly examined the many strange knick-knacks Christine had hoarded over the years. There were some dried purple lilacs pressed between the yellowed pages of an old diary, a rag doll with one eye missing, and a ruffled white frock she had long overgrown, and a gold locket with a picture of "dear papa" inside which Christine with a tear in her eye immediately put round her neck…

"You still kept this for these years?" asked Raoul as he pulled from the store a torn, besmeared red scarf. Quite overcome, he reached down and planted a loving kiss on Christine's forehead.

"Of course, darling," she said tenderly caressing the bauble, "How could I not? For if not for this scarf, I perhaps might never have met you. Do you still remember, Raoul, that magical day at the seaside when we were children?"

Flashback

_It had been a wet, foggy day at the beach and eight year old Christine had wanted to remain at home. But that was not the only reason for her mother had died around that time a year ago of consumption. And though she was young, in her mind Christine could still picture the sweet voice of her mother singing her to sleep each night._

_Though Christine tried to remain cheerful for her father's sake, Gustav in his own grief could not be blind to the sufferings of his daughter. He was a good man with a passion even a genius for music, a man who admittedly tended to live in an idealistic world with his head in the clouds and as he grew older, sicker, and felt the mortality of man as one whose life was nearing an end was apt to do, Gustav believed that somehow he had failed Christine. She had been raised on dreams and fairy tales because that was all he could afford and a person cannot live on such things._

_So that day despite her protests, he had insisted they take a walk along the beach together as a needed distraction._

"_Yes papa," said Christine, bowing her head. Later hand-in-hand they had wandered across the smooth sand with the echo of ocean waves in their ears. Ever so often, the little girl had bent own to pick up a particularly pretty shell or pebble._

_It was a windy day and ill luck would have it that a particular gust had torn the little red scarf from around Christine's neck and hurled it willy-nilly into the sea. She had been in utter despair for it had been one of the last gifts from her poor mother. Gustav who might have caught his death that day in going after the scarf was seriously considering doing so when from behind him, he heard a boyish yell. _

"_Don't worry, I can swim and will retrieve it!" shouted the voice, followed by a splash. _

_Both Gustav and Christine turned in horror to see a small boy flinging himself into the sea, fighting the waves, and heedless of their calls to draw back. Luckily he was a robust swimmer for it was only a second later when he stood dripping before them._

"_Here, I believe this is yours," he said to Christine, handing the scarf back. He was a pale boy with amazingly clear blue eyes, flaxen colored hair, and an infectious smile._

"_Thank-you, it is mine," she accepted the soaking thing and gave the boy her best curtsy._

"_Young man, you need not have risked your life to save this scarf," sternly scolded Gustav. But his expression immediately softened with gratitude, "Would you tell us your name at least so my daughter and I can properly thank you?"_

"_My name is Raoul de Chagny, Monsieur," said the boy, "My family and I are staying over there for the summer." And he pointed to a spacious beach house that towered over a nearby cliff nearby._

"_My name is Christine," prompted Christine, "You must come to our cottage and play with me sometimes. Mayn't he, papa?" She tugged softly at her father's coat._

_Gustav, after the initial surprise of meeting such a small member of the de Chagny family all alone, smiled, "Of course, my dear." He turned to the boy and warmly shook his little hand, "Indeed, I would be honored, Raoul, for you have done so much for us already. My daughter here has been yearning for a playmate."_

"_I will come, sir," said the boy and smiled. Secretly, he already thought Christine more beautiful than an angel and was as much in love as a boy of nine years old could be._

"_Don't forget," exclaimed Christine cheerily. "Here," and she gave Raoul the prettiest seashell she had found all morning, "A present from me because you rescued my scarf."_

_The two parties parted ways soon after Gustav made certain the boy got home safely and despite the sharp reprimand Raoul received from his worried mother for running off and then talking to strangers, despite being wet and cold and going without dessert as punishment, he considered that day one of the happiest and luckiest of his life._

End Flashback

"Of course, I remember," said Raoul turning to Christine with a mirthful smile, "Although it was wrong of me to have run off, I am truly thankful to have done so that particular day.

Christine both scolded and laughed," After we got home and papa told me who you really were, we both wondered why it was that you were all by yourself. But Raoul, this scarf would have been meaningless to me if you had drowned in attempting to save it."

"But I told you didn't I; that I could swim." Raoul replied teasingly. He stood up "Christine, this reminds me, I must show you something."

"What is it, Raoul?" asked Christine, curiously. She stood up and patted the dust from her dress.

"Follow me." he replied teasingly.

He led her to his office, extracted a small key, and with it opened a drawer in the old bureau at the far end of the room. As Christine peered closely, Raoul produced a medium-sized wooden box very ordinary in looks.

"I, too, save objects that were and still are precious to me," he said with a bright smile and opened the container. Inside were items only a boy could love: some glass marbles, a curious looking white stone, unfortunately a large dead beetle, colorful bottle caps, and finally lying amidst the pile of oddities was none other than the pink seashell she had given him that day.

"I have never forgotten," he said in a low voice laying the shell in Christine's hand, "And although you and your father moved away from the seaside several months later and somehow I thought I might never see you again, I have always kept this with me as a memorial of Little Lotte and of happier times."

She smiled with joy through lashes glistening with tears. "As long as we have each other, there will be countless happier times ahead." Standing on tip-toes, she placed her arms round Raoul's neck and kissed him sweetly. "We will continue to make memories such as these."

Erik smiled. The music, he could fell it flowing through him, flawless and pure as the air he breathed. Each note that flew from his fingers upon the ivory keys was like the period at the end of a sentence in its finality and assurance. There was magnificence; an awe-inspiring beauty that overcame the creature, for never was Erik more at peace than when he was composing.

However today for one of the first times, Erik did not smile for the music. He smiled at a foolish blond-haired girl who was out in the garden, twirling about foolishly like an airy sprite. The window was open but he had drawn the curtains to the drawing room though making sure to leave a small crack. And now he was watching with great amusement, clearly distracted whilst sitting at Madame Arlette's old pianoforte.

Meg, unaware she was being watched, did pirouette after pirouette, continued with a graceful battement jeté, and finished by curtsying quite composedly to a nearby stone angel. She had not danced since her last performance at the Opera Populaire or heard such lovely piano music before which seemed to flow just for her alone. Ballet to Meg was as much her great passion as music was to Erik; and so who could blame her for dancing carelessly in a restricting petticoat and slippers which pinched her feet when she ought to have been watering the newly planted flowers? Certainly not Meg, who saw the drawn curtains and did not anticipate a would-be-very embarrassing situation; for the rush of air, sunshine, and music called to her much more urgently and she could not but listen.

It was all too much for Erik as he watched her curtsy to that last stone angel. He attempted to suppress a chuckle which rose unexpectedly to his throat and in doing so played made a fatal mistake. The music ended on a discordant note.

Meg froze, turned, and saw to her astonishment the singular shadow of Erik behind a crack in the curtains. From her varying complexion, she was both mortified and not a little upset. Quickly, she darted out of sight from behind a tree and waited.

He pulled back the curtains after Meg's mysterious disappearance and leaned curiously out the window just in time to be hit squarely in the chest with a damp clump of dirt, "What the devil did you do that for?" he exploded.

Meg stood her ground, watched his countenance darken, and for a moment was afraid of his wrath. This was a dangerous and temperamental man and she certainly did not fancy she could understand him after only a couple of weeks spent under the same roof. However she could not suppress her tongue as always, "That, sir, was for spying on me!"

Whatever murderous thoughts he was currently thinking of, Erik luckily did nothing more than glower. "Spying is hardly what you should be accusing me of," he retorted. "Especially," Erik continued almost peevishly, "when it was a certain someone who interrupted my music by idiotically prancing about alone."

"Idiotic prancing!" exploded Meg who at the same time could not help but blush furious, "I'll have you know, you thick-headed boorish man, that I was dancing." She paused and swallowed heavily, attempting to calm herself, "And besides that song you were playing, it reminded me very much of the music I used to perform to at the opera house."

He lowered his head as if to hide the expression in his eyes after Meg mentioned the Opera Populaire. "I'm glad you liked it. It was a piece that I composed myself."

She suddenly felt badly for her behavior; he always seemed to have this way with her, of making her pity him when she ought to have been angry. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have thrown that at you," Meg said and surprised herself by walking towards the window and offering him her handkerchief, "Here, use this."

He accepted the offering and rubbed furiously at his shirt, succeeding in only smearing the dirt further. "At this rate," he remarked, "your mother and Mme. Arlette will certainly ban me from the rest of the house."

Meg, watching his little struggle, could not help but burst out laughing to the surprise of Erik. To think the feared Phantom of the Opera was so helpless in domestic matters. She wanted very much to ask him how he was able to survive alone for so long in the opera dungeons but was again afraid of offending.

"I'm glad you find this so amusing," he told her wryly.

"That's because you're doing it all wrong," said Meg, successful in suppressing her mirth. She took the handkerchief from him and demonstrated across the window sill. "See," she said, "Try making sweeping motions instead of scrubbing."

The dirt gradually came off though Erik hardly noticed. He was only too painfully aware of the feel of Meg's hands innocently brushing across his chest and the glow of the afternoon sun highlighting her golden hair.

"There," she finally exclaimed with a satisfied look, "Except for that little spot, it's mostly gone and Maman won't even notice." Erik realized that he had somehow been holding his breathe and exhaled in what might have been a little sigh as Meg moved away.

"Thank you," he murmured very slowly, unused to speaking such words of gratitude before.

Meg grinned, "For what; for spraying you with dirt in the first place and then cleaning some of it off? If so, then you are very welcome." She bent to pick up her fallen watering pot, "Now if you don't mind me continuing to twirl foolishly in the garden, I will get back to these thirsty plants."

Erik nodded and pulled back the curtains but did not close the windows. Minutes later, the same song floated soothingly through the morning air as Meg bent smiling and humming carelessly over her work.

As peaceful as these two pictures have proved to be, elsewhere in Paris darker people and doings nevertheless lurked. It was in the midst of a wealthy, urbanized section of the city, where bachelors were known to rent spacious flats and spend their days smoking cigars, debating politics, and lounging idly about in ubiquitous cafes. In one such dwelling, we encounter a man and a woman sitting side-by-side on a well-worn but comfortable sofa. The rest of the room was tastefully furnished with gleaming mahogany and most noticeably: towering shelves of books which encompassed one entire wall.

"Do not worry, my dear," said the man comfortingly, "It will be a success." He leaned closer towards the lady in order to better catch the scent of magnolias on her skin which he adored.

She, on the other hand, turned her face away and stood up abruptly. "I really wish you wouldn't be so forward with me anymore," she remarked bluntly.

"Ah but you very well already know my feelings." He rose as well, closed the distance between them, and whispered seductively into her ear, "That I would do anything for you."

Shivering slightly, the woman felt warm lips proceed to plant soft, urgent kisses down the length of her neck. "But must you make this so much harder?" she grumbled but turned around anyways, placed her arms round his neck, and succumbed beautifully. They share a passionate kiss in the dim sitting room; her eyes tightly closed as if to shut out both light and reality.

**Thanks for Reading: **Think of this chapter as sort of the calm before the storm. -laughs-

Anyways, please leave a review and much thanks goes to those who already have. I'll try my best to respond to as many as I can via PM.


	10. A Rising Darkness

**Author's Notes: **I've decided for some chapters of the story to switch occasionally perspectives so the following will be part R/C and part E/M. Enjoy and please review!

**Chapter 9: A Rising Darkness**

"_By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." _

_from MacBeth by William Shakespeare_

It was ten days before her and Raoul's engagement party that the nightmare started all over again.

Christine distinctly remembered that she had gone to a tailor with Adele that morning to try on a new dress for the ball. Jacque Audric was a renowned designer of fashionable gowns and waistcoats for upper class Paris and for this memorable occasion had fairly outdone himself. The gown was made of a heavy rich material, crimson in color to perfectly complement her dark curls, with a full skirt and bustle that draped beautifully. There was a line of small gold beads sewn into the slim bodice and a scooped neck which revealed Christine's pristine white shoulders. She had blushed while wearing that ostentatious dress, unused to the feel of soft velvet and silk against her skin, the rustle of its long train on the floor. Even in the opera house with its many costumes, Christine had never worn anything nearly so lovely. And now standing upon a platform with Monsieur Audric who was armed with pins, she felt nothing short of being a porcelain doll.

"Lovely, absolutely magnificent," pronounced the tailor as he took a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Oh Christine," gasped Adele with a wondering look, "You look so beautiful." She rushed to hug her friend though careful at the same time not to crush the fabric. "How do you feel?"

"Strange," replied Christine and broke into a tentative smile, "But in a wonderful sort of way."

The dress was carefully wrapped up and placed into the carriage and the two drove back to the de Chagny estate. It was a sunny day, the snow had all but melted, and several tenacious buds were already unfurling their green heads in the moist French soil. The two drove in companionable silence with an occasional remark of delight over some fresh anomaly in the landscape.

Back at the manor, it was Anne who came in and handed Christine a small white envelope attached to a single long stemmed red rose. "Probably a letter of congratulations, my dear," said the kindly old lady.

'Do you know who sent it?" asked Christine curiously. There was no return address written on its smooth white surface but only the words "To Mlle. Daae" in a bold masculine hand.

"I'm afraid not," said Anne, "It was found by Rousseau slipped under the back door. An odd way to deliver a letter, I thought at first, but most likely callers who were in a hurry and decided to leave their card instead."

Christine thanked Anne and opened the letter in the private of a parlor. She started violently as she read the contents inside and turned deathly pale, almost dropping the missive entirely. Unfortunately at that moment, there came footsteps at the entrance and with trembling fingers she quickly stuffed the note into her dress pocket.

"Good afternoon, darling," greeted Raoul jovially with a kiss on Christine's brow, "How was your trip to see dear old Audric?"

"F-fine," she could barely stutter, rising at once, "The dress was very lovely and fitted perfectly. I cannot wait to wear it at the ball."

"I'm glad to hear it. Monsieur Audric has worked as our family tailor for many years now and is always excellent at his craft." He stopped short and noticed her agitated appearance and shortened breaths, "Christine, are you alright? You look very pale."

"Yes, of course," she answered brusquely, sweeping aside, "I'm just a bit tired is all and will go lie down for a bit."

He was worried and continued to gaze intently at her white complexion as if seeing through her lie. However, Raoul held his tongue and only exclaimed, "Dear, you have only just recovered and mustn't overexert yourself."

Eager to escape to the private of her room and suddenly annoyed for some unknown reason, Christine turned around abruptly and snapped. "I told you that I'm fine, Raoul and really wish you would listen for once and not be overly concerned over every small thing. I am not a child to be coddled!"

"My apologies," said poor Raoul, taken aback, "I do not mean to treat you as a child as you claim but was only worried and got carried away. Please forgive me."

He was always so reasonable, all sense and compassion which many times were able to counteract her naturally impulsive, passionate nature. But not today, today his gentle words served only to further irritate her nerves. "There is nothing to forgive,' she replied stiffly, "Now if you will excuse me, I will be in my room." And for the faint rustle of her dress on the marble floor, she was gone, leaving Raoul with both a confused and sorrowful expression on his face.

The letter and rose was hidden away in the little locked drawer of her writing desk and she stood gripping the little brass key in her hand until it left red marks. Very slowly but inevitably, the tears came.

For the next four days, Raoul and Christine remained coldly polite towards each other. He wanted very much as he watched his fiancé often drifting alone about the great house to again offer his apologies, to take her in his arms, and ask her earnestly what had been truly bothering her. But there seemed to exist an invisible yet impenetrable wall between them which Raoul was afraid to breach. It had been there ever hanging in the air since Erik came into their lives and he knew it, felt it ever lurking and yet could do nothing.

They still spoke of mundane matters though both never did mention of the one issue close at heart. Raoul and Christine were sitting on the parlor sofa one day; he was showing her a certain verse called "Annabelle Lee" by Edgar Allen Poe which had deeply moved him and she seemed to be listening intently until Raoul noticed silent tears dropping down her pale cheek.

"Dearest, why do you cry?" he asked as gently as he could.

Impatiently, Christine brushed the drops away. "The poem is so poignant; I just couldn't help having a good, foolish cry over it. How tragic that these two people should be so very much in love and then torn brutally apart by death." She leaned over and drew her fingers almost wistfully across Raoul's face, "What would become of me should I ever lose you?"

He smiled and enclosed her hand in both of his own. "Do not be silly," he said, "You aren't going to lose me. We shall have a lifetime ahead and grow old together."

"And each sit in a rickety rocking chair, exchanging stories by the sea?" she asked, resting her head blissfully on Raoul's shoulder.

"And much more if that is what you wish," he whispered into her hair.

"Raoul?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm sorry for losing my temper before and being so irritable when I ought to have been grateful for your concern for me. I'm too hasty and hard-headed, you know, and unfortunately have always been this way." The book slipped from the sofa and was momentarily forgotten.

"But that is part of what I adore; of your sensibilities and that you are able to care so deeply," replied Raoul, greatly touched. He drew Christine closer and felt that he could drown in those chocolate brown abysses that were her eyes. And only the painting of a King Cavalier cocker spaniel that hung above the mantelpiece later bore witness to their loving embrace and kiss as all troubles seem to be forgotten.

The next day, another letter came for Christine attached to an ordinary brown package. It thrown willy-nilly against the front porch, was discovered by Anne, and delivered by her likewise. "Another engagement present most likely," she said with a smile, "lovely scented envelope; magnolias I believe. There's a large vine of them in the garden with the prettiest flowers in summer."

Christine accepted the delivery, murmured thank-you, and darted upstairs where she locked herself in her room. Leaning heavily against the door, she eased her trembling. _It's probably nothing…I'm being silly and neurotic again…_

There was a thumping sound when she shook the box which sounded perfectly ordinary. The brown paper wrapping, likewise, seemed harmless, and so was the letter this time written in a different hand, that of a female's. She carefully opened the envelope first, read its message, and stifled a sharp gasp. It fluttered in a rocking motion from her outstretched hand onto the floor as Christine stood, dazed, and apparently debating something. Her hands clenched tightly before rushing at the package, tearing at the brown wrapping with a merciless fury.

'I am not afraid. I am not afraid,' she repeated in her head, 'I am not…' But she was very much afraid when she peeled back the white wrapping to reveal the object inside the box. It was the mangled, decapitated corpse of a large grey rat.

Meg screamed and jerked abruptly around.

She had been sitting in deep concentration at the pianoforte when an icy hand had suddenly landed on her shoulder. "You!" she cried upon seeing who it was, "You frightened me, Erik! Can you not warn me of your approach next time instead of lurking about the house like that?" But of course, he could not and she knew it. Phantoms were supposed to be great artists at noiseless lurking.

"Go on, play some more. Please do not mind me," Erik replied calmly. He made no move to go and continued to stand towering over her.

"Maybe if you gave me some space first," mumbled Meg, hunched over the keys, and trying to regain her lost footing on the simple tune she was playing.

For the past week, she had convinced Erik to give her music lessons; not in singing of course but on the piano instead where she at least showed some talent as a child apart from ballet. How Meg Giry had coaxed the ex-phantom of the opera into such an act of kindness itself stood testament to her remarkable powers of persuasion.

He made no comments when she ended the piece by hitting a wrong note. It resonated jarringly in the atmosphere and hung like a question mark. "Play it again," he simply ordered.

Meg complied and secretly believed that it did indeed sound much better the fourth time around that day. "So what do you think?" she asked with a hopeful look at Erik. She flexed her sore fingertips but found no encouragement from the still, taciturn creature beside her.

"You play as well as I expect," he replied. There was both sarcasm and an infuriating tone of superiority in his voice.

Meg opened her mouth to protest but managed to swallow her pride for she really did want to learn. "But perhaps, you could give me more instructions then?" she forced herself to request patiently.

"There are no instructions, no divine secrets in the world I can give for your improvement if you insist on rejecting the music," he replied, sweeping closer. He took a seat beside Meg on the bench.

"What do you mean?" she asked, both confused and curious.

"I mean that you first must feel the melody; let the song claim you for its own and see the piano as a medium for what is already there." He paused and looked at Meg before sighing, "I do not soon expect you to understand this."

Her head drooped as she felt a strange sense of disappointment. Erik was not a kind teacher but Meg knew him to be a genius if anything at music. _And Christine…she had learned from him…had taken lessons and become so talented...surely Christine must have been a better student than herself…_ "I will try harder," she said softly.

The look he gave her was both keen and penetrating, "You truly wish to learn? As I have mentioned before, I hold no pity for indolence and scorn lack of talent."

"I do," said Meg who could not help but smile, "Even in spite of all that, if you are willing to teach me, that is."

He made her no reply but simply moved to put the book of exercises she had been reading from under the bench. "Let us try something new then," Erik instructed, "Close your eyes, Meg. I will play a few notes and I want you to repeat them without looking at the keys."

"But that's impossible," she objected, feeling as if he had just thrown her into the ocean and asked her to swim. Nevertheless, Meg closed her eyes.

"You must trust me then," he remarked coolly and begun. She was so shocked at his having spoken such words to her that she entirely missed the flawless first chords being played by Erik. Needless to say, her first trial left much to be desired; she could not even find the right keys and stumbled pitifully. Her attempt at imitation was not even close.

"Listen closely, Meg, and keep your eyes closed," said Erik as he played the same notes once more, "Try again."

She tried again with the darkness swirling all about her and succeeded no better the second time around.

"No! No!" he cried and without thinking, picked up her hands and guided each finger along the keys. Meg was too deep in concentration to even blush though she could not stifle a little flinch for his hands were always so cold. She hoped he did not notice but if Erik did, he simply ignored her.

"Tell me, what do you see right now?" he asked after a short pause.

"Right now?" asked Meg, "I see nothing, only darkness."

Erik smiled but because her eyes were closed, Meg did not observe the fleeting expression. "Ah but darkness is not nothing. It is a color, a shade; it is something. Let yourself be immersed in it and use the music, each note, each echo to dispel the darkness away."

She wondered as she tried the third time with some improvement if that was Erik's way of life during his existence in the opera house dungeons. If he used music to chase away some of the darkness, to ease some of the loneliness that would have otherwise driven an ordinary man insane long ago.

**Thanks for Reading: **Don't worry, I will be writing part of a chapter soon from Erik's perspective since he seems to be the only one of my characters which I haven't yet. Also "Annabelle Lee" as mentioned in the story is a tragic poem by Poe which details a young couple who live by the sea. The girl dies suddenly and the boy is left to grief. Sorry, I'm bad at summaries but definitely read it if you haven't already because it's a very beautiful piece of literature.

A heads-up: I'll be without Internet between September 15th-22nd since my internship will finally finish and I'll be heading back to college. So the story might be on hiatus for a couple of weeks while I settle in. The good news though is that my muse has not failed me yet and I will be seeing this through.

As always, please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing.


	11. Visions of a Phantom

Author's Notes: Here's the piece from Erik's point-of-view which I promised. And don't worry, the mystery with Christine's notes will be explained in a later chapter and all will be cleared up. I have a plan already outlined for this story so sit back and enjoy the ride. Please remember to review as well.

**Chapter 10: Visions of a Phantom**

"Erik, I'm afraid our piano lesson will have to be canceled for tonight," Meg said with her head slightly lowered. She had swept into the room dressed in a light blue silk gown and ribbons laced through her golden hair, obviously for a night out.

"Why?" he asked without looking up from the piano keys, "Do you propose to neglect music for more frivolous amusements?"

She cleared her throat and there hung a short, awkward pause between them as she struggled for a good answer to this paradox of a question. "I-I and Maman are going to a ball."

"By your current costume, I have already assumed as much. What ball?" he pressed in a low voice. A few notes floated into the air as Erik tested the keys and waited for Meg's answer.

"A dear friend's, I had promised to be there tonight," she answered and licked her lips nervously. She hated falsehoods and hiding secrets were never her strong points.

Erik shut the cover of the piano with a harsh bang and Meg, greatly startled, nearly jumped in surprise. "You don't have to lie to me. I already know," he said brokenly. Placing his hands over his face, he uttered a deep sigh which appeared doubly pathetic in Meg's eyes for his futile attempts to stifle it.

"You knew?" she needed to confirm. The topic of what exactly he did know hung unasked in the air but Meg dared not venture there. She didn't need to after all.

"I knew; it was in the morning paper."

Her face was pink with shame and for a moment, she struggled to recover herself and at the same time offer some words of comfort. "Erik, I'm sorry," Meg could only murmur foolishly in the end.

He tossed back his head and laughed at the girl before him but it was a mirthless, bitter laugh, a laugh only a tormented creature would utter. The sound sent cold shivers down her spine. "Do not apologize to me, Meg," he said dangerously, "Go to their celebration and be happy. Dance the night away, gossip over idle subjects, bask in the glory of family and friends, and leave me be."

"But will you be alright, Erik?" she ventured forward and placed a tentative hand on his trembling shoulder. "I can stay if you need me to," she surprised even herself by this voluntary bit of sacrifice.

His emerald green eyes clearly reflected his surprise as he turned to regard her intently, "You would stay?" for a rare instance Erik was at a loss for words and was almost tempted to accept her humble offer. But that feeling quickly evaporated and morphed into something entirely different. Obviously, she would stay because she pitied him and Erik was a proud, unyielding man who believed the last thing he needed at the moment was more pity. Christine had sympathized with him, had cried for him, had even consented to kiss him, but in the end she like everyone else in his life had abandoned him to a dark fate.

"No, I want you to go," he said gruffly and assumed a sneering façade. "Though tempted to, I promise not to follow you, kidnap another poor unsuspecting girl at the festivity, and drag her down into the dungeons with me if that is what you are concerned about."

Though Meg loathed admitting it, his caustic sarcasm deeply cut her. "Erik, that is not at all what worries me. I know that when you get into these moods, you might do something desperate to yourself."

"You know nothing about me!" he hissed and turning with a sharp motion, Erik seized Meg's hand in his own and applied pressure until she felt pain. He had intended to intimidate her, to see the mark of fear in her steady blue eyes, to make her hate him a little. There was always this lurking masochistic tendency about him.

Meg snatched her hand away and took a step back. True, she was fast losing her patience now as even a saint when confronted with this creature would and yet, was anything but afraid. Over the past four weeks that they had lived under the same roof, she had seen his fits of temper and understood them to be as transitory as a rainstorm.

"I know enough to realize you do nothing but wallow in self-pity!" she snapped back and instantly regretted her quick tongue. Here Meg had wanted to offer consolation and had ended up insulting Erik instead.

The words were too much for him and he bluntly refused to acknowledge their truthfulness. "Enough!" he cried, burying his face once more in his hands. He turned away from her as if the mere sight of Meg blinded him and slumped back onto the piano bench. "Please go."

"Erik, I…" she began.

"Go!" his voice echoed hollowly.

Without another word, Meg turned and left, the click of her slippers quickly fading towards the door. She knew instinctively that it was better not to interfere when he got into such moods; that it was better for the time being to just let him alone. And yet despite Meg's determination not to allow Erik's temper to spoil her evening, a cold, grey cloud had already dampened her pleasures and expectations.

"Well, did you tell him?" asked Madame Giry in the hallway. She was settling a cashmere shawl about her shoulders. Outside, the clip-clop of horses announced the arrival of their carriage.

"He already knew," answered Meg quietly and stared down intently at her gloves.

"That we're going to Raoul and Christine's engagement party?"

"Yes," and she continued to examine her gloves as if they were the most fascinating objects in the world.

Her mother simply nodded, "Then he has much to reflect over tonight. Come, Meg. Let us go." She opened the door and mother and daughter stepped into the clear dawning twilight of an early evening. It was surprisingly warm though a playful zephyr swept through the Parisian countryside. All was quiet and overhead only the stars gazed down as the two ascend into the little carriage and heard the light tap of Pierre's whip on the horses' back.

That is except for Erik who peered from the sitting room windows and saw the wagon slowly drive away. For the rest of the interminably long evening, he could hardly recollect what he did with the time. He tried composing some more at the piano but even music failed to soothe his nerves tonight and the notes sounded jarringly in his ears. He picked up a book and tried to read but the incessant ticking of the gold clock on the mantelpiece irritated him. The house was eerily still even for Erik who had lived much of his life in solitude; Madame Arlette having gone to bed early as usual and the servants dismissed for the day.

Tossing the book aside, he even considered taking a long moonlight stroll in the woods which he usually did in the early mornings. But that idea was too abandoned and instead Erik fell to pacing back and forth across the silent library. No matter what, everywhere he turned visions of chocolate brown eyes, chestnut curls, and a heart wrenchingly sweet voice haunted him. He could neither escape from it nor hide himself. There constantly floating about him were memories, visions of Christine. She was there by Madame Arlette's pianoforte, her innocent glance burning into his soul and her rosebud lips rising in song. She was standing in the middle of the room in a long white bridal dress, her hands stretched enticingly towards him. And once she was even right before him with seductive eyes, the burn of her kiss still fresh on his lips.

Slumping back into the chair and resting his mask less head on his hands, he uttered a gut-wrenching moan of agony, "Oh Christine! Christine! Christine…" as if the magical incantation of her name could somehow summon her to him at once and this time make her stay forever. He thus did not notice the clock chime twelve times behind him. Erik was too far gone, in a dream, a reverie, a reminiscence even for some parts of it were entirely true; his exhausted mind certainly could not say.

_He was sprawled across the dank dungeon floor of the former Opera Populaire, alone and with tears streaming down his face. Choked with sobs, Erik did not at first hear the shouts of men pouring into his lair and if he did, what did it signify anymore…Christine was gone, she had left him to go with that damned Vicomte, and after all that he had sacrificed for her sake. He was alone in the pressing darkness again, his last hope for light and happiness having burnt out. Truly alone this time..._

"_Find the monster!"_

"_He must be down here somewhere! I can smell the stench of death!" came the angry shouts. _

_Yes, death. He wanted death. It was all that he had left, for the future was but a barren chasm of silence._

"_We'll lynch him! String him up high on a tree and watch him kick!" the mob shrieked in unison. _

_He flinched as he imagined himself at their mercy, humiliated and tormented before being allowed to die. No longer could he bear such a thought, the jeering mob at his back, their spits and uncouth taunts, reminders of a cruel childhood. "Why won't they let me be?" he moaned, flipping himself onto his knees. Was it not enough that he had been reduced to a heartbroken man waiting for death? Must they strip away his dignity and mock him with it as well?_

"_Hang him! Hang the Opera Ghost!" They were closer, dangerously close to where he was now. He fancied he could even see the light from their torches reflecting off the stone walls._

"_Damn them…damn them all to hell," Erik muttered before staggering shakily to his feet. They wanted to kill them but he would not give them the satisfaction. He would live and die as he had before on his own right. Today, the Phantom of the Opera would make his last great escape and the mob would be spared in shedding his blood. _

_There came a heavy crash at the heavy portcullis as the men outside stormed the barricade. However, it was reflected by the shatter of broken glass inside; Erik had broken through several gilded mirrors to reveal a secret tunnel. Stepping through the narrow opening, he could not help but smile bitterly. The only thing they would be uncovering that day would be his mask. After all, he did not need it anymore where he was going._

_The week afterwards was fraught with resignation towards death as he drifted in and out of the disreputable parts of Paris, the bowels of the city as the middle class were fond of calling. Ironically what came first and which truly brought him over the edge was not a broken heart nor the discovery of his hideous deformity but hunger, a basic instinct of all man, Erik being no exception. He had not planned out in detail how he would end his life but nevertheless starvation seemed to be doing the trick. Forgoing nourishment for seven long days had nearly driven him insane; it was physical torment, a terrible grueling one which clawed painfully away at his insides. To let himself slowly waste away would be to Erik's longing eyes, a truly poetic death but the arduous process was simply too much for the man. But on the other hand, he had brought no money along and was unwilling to risk stealing from a vendor in the crowded marketplace._

_Luckily on the eighth day, driven almost mad with hunger which overcame his fear of being discovered, he had noticed a man staggering drunkenly out of a saloon with a loaf of bread. And forsaking what pride he had left, Erik had in a desperate frenzy rushed at his prey. What he had not anticipated however was the arrival of the man's likewise drunken comrades._

Erik shifted slightly in his chair while above him the clock announced the hour past midnight. His eyes were closed to mark entrance into sleep and his breath visibly quickened as the scene in his mind shifts.

_The shadowy men were slowly closing in around him; their kicks brought no pain but their loud jeers at his disfigurement did. He wrapped his hands about his head, closed his eyes, and pleaded for them to either kill him or leave him be. Yes, he even called out her name; Erik called out Christine's name. And almost instantaneously, a flash of white light had engulfed and swallowed his abusers and kneeling over him with her soft hand against his cheek was Christine herself._

"_Christine…Christine," he murmured. One hand went instinctively to stroke her brown curls as Erik gazed adoringly at his angel. _

"_Erik, I'm here," she replied and beamed down at him._

"_You will not leave me again?" he asked desperately and struggled to sit up._

"_I cannot stay long," she said._

"_Please don't go, Christine," he replied, seizing hold of her hand and drawing it to his lips, "I-I love you so much." Tears hung in his emerald eyes as Erik desperately confessed what was foremost in his heart._

_She withdrew her hand and placed it behind her back, "I know and that is why I want us all to be happy again. There is no other option."_

_He was bewildered, "What do you mean? Christine?"_

"_Erik, Raoul and I simply can't be happy together until all memories of you are erased…and that can only be so by this way." Her benign smile shifted at once into a cruel smirk when with a swift motion, Christine pulled a dagger from behind and plunged it into Erik's heart._

_Gasping in his dizziness, Erik observed the patch of crimson on his chest blossom like a rose; he watched with a sort of detached interest, half of fascination, half of horror. "W-w-why?" he had to know._

_She smiled coquettishly though her brown eyes remained solemn. "For destroying so many lives."_

_Such words were another sharp dagger to his heart and Erik had to close his eyes and force himself to ignore the drops of blood quickly pooling around him. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Christine. Please, forgive me for I did it all because of you," he pleaded. Somehow if only she would give him her pardon, the world would be whole again._

"_Too late," she crowed, "too late." Her voice was fading away into the distance like a dying bell._

"_No! Christine!" he called, reached out blindly to detain her, and felt his hand brush against a lady's arm. Opening his eyes, he felt madness overcome him as Meg Giry suddenly appeared in Christine's place._

"_Come to mock me before I die?" Erik asked sardonically. So much red…all he could see now was red…surely he didn't have much time left…_

"_No, I've come to help you." Her focused, concerned glance never left him for a second as she took his hand._

"_How can you ever begin to help me?" in a bitter tone; darkness was beginning to cloud his vision. Yet, he did not lose the soft touch of her hand._

"_By waking you up, Erik. This is only a dream…" _

His eyes fluttered open to a bright yellow haze and real hands shaking him. Instinctively, he seized and flung them violently aside. A little cry of surprise reached his ears and clearing the drowsiness from his mind, Erik saw Meg before him, still dressed in her evening attire. "Why did you wake me?" he asked irritably; the brightness of the oil lamp nearby made his eyes water slightly.

"I was putting away my things when I heard you yelling some nonsense in your sleep. It seemed like you were having a nightmare." Meg paused to shift the lamp a little to the side and soften its glow.

"Yes, I was having an unfortunate dream; but never mind that," he said hurriedly, wanting very much to forget it as quickly as possible. "Did you get back just now?" A quick glance at the clock on the mantelpiece informed him that it was a quarter past three in the morning, nearly dawn.

"Yes, yes I did." She obviously wasn't going to tell him anything unless he directly asked her.

"Well?" he wanted very much to know.

"Well what?" Meg feigned ignorance. They danced around the subject like a pair of duelers, each wanting the upper hand.

He was frustrated but would not allow himself to be taken in. "Good-night then," he said, making ready to rise from the couch and retire to his room.

Meg caved as he knew she would but inwardly she excused her weakness as being too mature to play such a childish game. "It was a lovely engagement party and Christine; she seemed very happy and well-recovered." Meg believed this was the first time; she had ever mentioned her friend's name to Erik and was a little nervous at his reaction…

…if there was a reaction at all; since they simply faced each other in silence, Erik sitting and Meg standing with a faint pink hue from dancing still radiant on her cheeks. Just as the long pause was starting to grow rather awkward and she was about to turn her back on him and excuse herself for bed, Erik finally spoke up in a vindictive manner.

"He doesn't deserve her."

She was always staunchly loyal of her friends and just as quick to defend. "Raoul is my friend and a fine, honorable gentleman who loves Christine very much." The dam had broken, the unmentionable subject mentioned, and Meg was aware of it but for the first time did not care. Perhaps it was the night air which fueled her boldness and prompted her to say, "And I believe on some level you've realized this or you would never have let them go."

"You think too highly of me then," he said very calmly. "I let them go because she loved him and I wanted Christine to be happy." He rose and went to sit again at the piano bench where shadows danced on the wall. "God, I would have given away my soul to see her happy," came the weary sigh which Meg could just barely catch.

With a light, graceful step of a ballerina, she went to him in her pity and placed her hands on his hunched shoulders. This time, Erik did not move away. "I know," Meg said very tenderly, "And I believe she must have loved you too if only as a teacher."

"But now she'll never even forgive me; she can no longer bear the sight of me" he turned around on the bench to look hopefully at the girl with the attitude of a thirsty man finding an oasis in the desert.

"That's not true. If someday you should ask her, Christine would forgive you." She added softly, "As I did."

He went on as if never hearing her at all and Meg soon realized that he was noiselessly crying. "It's this loathsome face of mine which she could not bear, which my own mother could not even look upon without disgust. Perhaps I am simply cursed to be alone forever." Bowing his head, Erik felt himself resigned to his fate though tears of bitterness continued to flow. For a creature starved of light will, after having tasted its sweetness and then put back into the darkness again, secretly learn to dream and to hope.

"Why do you always think so meanly of yourself, Erik?" whispered Meg, "Do you not realize that you have Maman and I who care deeply for you, that you were and are never alone when there exists such good friends?"

"Friends?" he breathed, unconsciously reaching for Meg and resting his head against her waist. His wet lashes brushed against the softness of her silk dress while a lazy thought glided serenely through his head: she smelt faintly of English roses.

"Friends," affirmed Meg, finding herself innocently stroking Erik's hair much as a mother would to comfort a small child.

Madame Giry who was just then walking by the door, peeked in, saw the little scene, and somberly shook her head before uttering a little sigh. Suddenly she was very worried for her daughter.

**Thanks for Reading: **I'm trying to squeeze out a couple more chapters before leaving for college. And wow was this one very angsty and longer than normal. Which reminds me: I'd like to dedicate this to Phantomphile, one of my wonderful reviewers. laughs Hopefully, I didn't make Erik seem too weak and pathetic…

The next chapter will detail the actual engagement party from Raoul and Christine's POV. Let's just say don't expect much fluff there…


	12. Vanity Fair

**Author's Notes: **The next update might not be for a few weeks so I'm very sorry to leave my readers hanging. Enjoy this chapter and please leave a review.

**Chapter 11: Vanity Fair**

As the gilded mirror revealed, she had been blessed with beauty and was now crowned in glory. The crimson ball gown fitted to a charm and gracefully swept the floor with each delicate step, white pearl earrings glowed on her ears, and a simple gold locket rested singularly on her white shoulders. Christine ought to have been very happy. Tonight was after all her engagement party to the Prince Charming of every little girl's dreams. It ought to have been the highlight of her life.

Yet, the face that glanced back at her from the mirror told a different story. There was the mark of fear in Christine's eyes, of nights made sleepless by tormented thoughts and of melancholy, the steady presence of a waking nightmare. Even as Raoul entered her room and offered a crown of red roses to bedeck her lovely curls, he too noticed her paleness and clear distraction.

"Are you ready, my dear?" he asked with a kiss on her immoveable lips and a bright smile on his face which proclaimed her a goddess in his eyes. Raoul had learned from the last argument they had had not to pry but to instead wait patiently.

She thanked him for the flowers and nodded. "Yes, they'll be waiting for us downstairs."

"Then shall we go?" he asked, offering her his arm.

Christine appeared not to notice this gesture and swept by him down the stairs, leaving Raoul again to stare rather confusedly after her. The expression quickly passed with a low sigh and he followed his fiancé to the ballroom.

It was to be a masquerade ball and all of upper class Paris had gathered in a raucous throng under a gleaming chandelier. There was singing, dancing, a constant flow of good wine, and general merriment reflected in the painted masks of its participants. Certainly, the atmosphere professed to be much more dignified than the enormous masquerade at the Opera Populaire but the reality was that this assumption was clearly false. For as the faces of the gentlemen over the course of the evening got redder, whether from excitement or alcohol one cannot say, so too the ladies sharpened their tongues and malicious gossip abounded. Treachery and duplicity reigned that night.

A sort of silent reverence hushed the crowd upon the announcement and arrival of Raoul and Christine. Faces behind glittery masks turned silently to regard the young couple. She found herself unconsciously clutching at Raoul's hand for comfort and then realizing what she had done, quickly releasing her hold.

He noticed and was a little troubled. "Do not worry, dearest. You look breathtaking and will make a wonderful impression tonight. I will be here by your side," Raoul whispered with a reassuring glance.

She nodded and was secretly thankful for the little bit of red velvet which provided a protective camouflage around her face. The twinkling lights, glitter of costumes, music, and quiet whispers slightly unnerved her.

"Save the last dance for me?" asked Raoul as they finally made their way down the staircase.

Allowing herself to finally exhale, Christine answered, "Of course." For the next hour, the two joined in the revelry and she was introduced by Raoul, Adele, and the elder Vicomte de Chagny to more names and subjects than she could possibly remember in one night. There was the earl of so and so…the distant relation of an exiled emperor…a plump lady who was a baron's wife and who played very badly on the piano…Everyone she met seemed remarkably kind and showered her with compliments till Christine blushed hotly under her mask. But best of all, Meg and Madame Giry had come and seeing their familiar faces provided her with much ease.

"Let's go someplace private and tell secrets as we used to," whispered Meg mischievously after exchanging hugs with Christine. Madame Giry, meanwhile, had spotted a former singer at the Opera Populaire and wandered off to speak with her.

The two barricaded themselves in the library for the next hour and talked of everything but what was currently foremost in their hearts. There was no mention of Erik, the phantom, or mysterious letters though Meg and Christine happily mused on childhood memories of the dear opera house, the cause of both heartache and bliss. They smiled a great deal but the two friends could already feel the strain in each other's laughter. For hidden at the bottom of each peal of merriment was the burden of a secret which both longed to tell but could not quite bear to.

"You look lovely tonight, Meg," said Christine seriously, "And it is so good to hear that you and your maman are settled comfortably at the cottage. Perhaps after all, we can finally learn to put the past before us and move on with our lives." There was a wistful look in her chocolate brown eyes as she placed a tender hand on her friend's hand.

"Perhaps," said Meg nearly inaudibly and felt a heavy pang in her heart.

"If there is anything that Raoul and I can do to help in any way," continued Christine, "you must not hesitate to ask us."

This was too much for poor Meg who was already on the urge of blurting out everything until fate would have it, the first strains of a waltz floated serenely into the room.

"Oh the dance has started," said Christine, rising, taking her friend's hand, and smiling. "Come we must find you a suitable partner."

"But perhaps I shouldn't dance tonight," protested Meg.

"Why not?"

"Because I-I'm not wearing the proper shoes," she finished lamely.

Christine attributed her friend's unwillingness to being shy. "Come Meg, that has never stopped you before. Besides, you're a superb dancer and I look forward to you making the rest of us appear like stampeding elephants tonight," with a light-hearted laugh.

Although Meg was still reluctant for a number of reasons, the lure of the music called to her and she finally relented. It was only a matter of time before young men swarmed to fill up Meg's card and she was whisked gracefully away on the marble floor.

The waltz was just enough to monetarily distract Christine from her troubles. Wrapped in Raoul's arms and twirling lightly along the marble floor, she felt divinely happy. Just for that split second, the rest of the world did not exist and there was only her and the man she loved.

"A penny for your thoughts, Little Lotte," teased Raoul as he gazed down on his fiancé who currently wore a dreamy expression in her eyes.

"I was just thinking Raoul, if this moment might possibly last forever. Every sight…every sound…if I could somehow stop time and be this happy always," she sighed with a contented smile.

"Then I will always try and make you this happy, my love," he murmured tenderly and proceeded to twirl Christine until she laughed in delight. "If you wish, we will dance till dawn!"

Unfortunately, this little declaration was not fulfilled because the music soon ended, the men begun to gather and form card and billiard parties in the east room, and Raoul as the host was compelled to join them. Christine, likewise, assumed her duties with the ladies upstairs that were busy gossiping over some late tea. She loitered a little in the staircase before heading up for she was experiencing both fatigue and a headache, Meg and Madame Giry meanwhile had decided to go for a quick stroll in the gardens, and Christine was currently not in the mood to be very social.

Pushing the door open, she was just about to enter the parlor when the mention of her name caught her ear. Now Christine was far from one who was apt to eavesdrop but the conversation immediately made her freeze cold. Obviously the current inhabitants of the room were discussing no one other than herself.

"This will not do, Marie! Tell me your honest opinion of this Christine Daae!" cried a very high-pitched voice obviously unconcerned at being overheard.

"Well," replied this Marie, "I find her a great beauty with much talent and…"

"And no fortune or title whatsoever," broke in another voice which Christine recognized as belonging to a countess who had seemed very gracious to her earlier, "The poor Vicomte is absolutely infatuated with her but I believe quite taken in. Poor, foolish man!"

"She's an orphan as I hear too," said another cruelly, "Her father was a wonderful musician but lived, I'm afraid, with his head constantly in the clouds and not a Franc in his pocket. Goodness only knows who her mother was…" There was a clink of china as a cup was set down which muffled the rest of her sentence. Christine needless to say did not need to hear it; her fists clenched angrily and tears burned in her eyes.

"How shocking!" responded another who had heard the rest of the sentence.

"Hear, hear!" drawled a voice which Christine identified as the baroness, "I predict the duration of this marriage to be two years at the maximum if it even goes through at all."

"Let us be reasonable," consoled poor Marie who from the tone of her voice was now a bit uncomfortable, "If they love one another then no amount of money or title ought to be a factor in their happiness."

"You are too naïve, dear and should learn to be more observant," immediately reproached one, "Money and title is always, always a factor!"

"You have been much too quiet, Mme. de Chagny, for someone who has lived under the same roof for several weeks now with this girl. What say you on this topic?" chimed in another.

"I must agree with you, Baroness and admit that I do find her nothing but a liability for my nephew and an annoyance," the woman returned bluntly to the sudden silence of the room, "But come, I have not the time to discuss this at the moment. The tea is almost all gone and I should call Anne." With this last remark, there was the open and closing of a backdoor and a delicate footstep down the stairs.

Tears spilled silently from Christine's face as she trembled violently with suppressed emotions. It was true that Adele's mother had always remained cold and aloof to her over the last few weeks but to hear such revulsion and contempt in her voice…She could not imagine what she had done to warrant such strong dislike.

"I do not blame her, you know," quietly spoke up the baroness, "Before this Mlle Daae came about, her daughter was said to be desperately in love with the Vicomte. Why she even declined a very advantageous marriage proposal for him!"

Christine's breath caught in her throat; she wanted very much to run, to simply get away, but somehow her legs seem frozen in place to the door, and force her to stay and listen.

"Indeed!"

"Yes, my dear though neither would admit to it, I've always believed had a few months more passed, the Vicomte would have inevitably asked for his cousin's hand in marriage."

"The Adele is much too lenient and kind then to make way so easily. Why if I were in her situation…"

On the way down the stairs, she almost tripped as sobs temporarily blinded her vision. Too livid to think, too confused, too everything, she simply ran, indulging herself in physical exercise what she could not allow herself to process mentally. For an instance, Christine debated the options of either storming into the room and kindly telling her "guests" to leave or finding Raoul. But no, she would not risk going into the east room with her eyes red and swollen from crying and her hair tumbled wildly about her shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to attract more attention and frighten everyone.

So at last, she decided instead to go into the gardens and find Meg and Madame Giry. They would understand, would sympathize, and logically convince her of the spuriousness of such talk.

The night was very clear as she noiselessly exited through the patio doors. Stars hung twinkling in the navy blue abyss and the dark shapes of vegetation were dimly outlined by a crescent moon's white glow. She heard the soft rustle of her skirts trailing on the dewy grass and yet somehow missed the quick steps behind her.

Until that is a hand clamped itself around her mouth while another arm held her waist in a vise-like grip…Christine was too startled to scream or even struggle; she wasn't able to anyways.

Her captor was a man judging by the deepness of his voice as he whispered in her ear, "Ah, lucky me. Here I had been looking for you and instead you have run right into my arms." The warmth from his breath caused her to shiver slightly.

There was an instinctive voice in her head that bade her run; a voice that sounded distinctively through the numbing fear. She obeyed and bit down hard on his hand, tasting the metallic flavor of blood in her mouth. From somewhere behind her, she could hear a sharp curse of surprise as she struggled to run in dancing slippers which had never seemed so cumbersome before.

"Help!" cried Christine, "Please, someone help me!" Her voice sounded strangely hoarse and weak in the empty night air. It was only a matter of time before her heavy skirts tangled treacherously round her legs and she stumbled, nearly falling until the same arms caught and brought her helplessly to the ground with a sharp cry.

"Repeat such conduct and I shall make you very sorry, my dear Mlle," cautioned the smooth voice. The man bent over her with both his hands pinning her own down. From what Christine could make out in the darkness, he wore a black mask which covered the upper part of his face, had bright green eyes, and dark hair. There was an air of familiarity in both his manners and looks which both shocked and mesmerized her.

'Why," she had to know, "Why are you doing this? Who are you?"

"That for now is of little importance to you. I've come to deliver an ultimatum," he replied. Obviously her little struggle before had unnerved him because the man was panting slightly.

"What ultimatum?" she asked.

"It pertains to the matter of those letters you have been receiving lately."

His words stunned and nearly left her speechless. Christine was terrified but felt it necessary not to show any signs of intimidation. "So it was you! You were the one who sent me those threats!"

A smile bloomed on his lips though to Christine, it resembled more of a mocking sneer. "Yes, it was I."

"But what purpose can they serve you, what benefits? Please Monsieur, if you will kill me then at least tell me the truth," she pleaded desperately.

He shook and it took her a moment to realize he was chuckling in amusement. "Rest assured; I am not nearly as vile as you think." The absurdity of his words nearly caught her off-guard for was he not at that moment holding her hostage against her will? "I only wish to know your decision. Will you accept this offer or not?"

"Never! I would never hurt the man whom I love!" Christine spat, feeling very courageous all of a sudden in her loathing and anger. "Now I demand that you release me or I shall call for help!"

"Ah, a pity for such nobility and sacrifice!" he said, completely ignoring her assertion, "But do you not know that such virtues will destroy not only you but the people you care for the most? Do you, Mlle, still believe the contents of those letters to be only idle threats?" His hold on her hands tightened threateningly.

From the shadows, he watched in amusement as tears flowed silently down her face. Yes, he had uncovered the girl's weak point after all, her desire to protect those she loved. He would use it to full advantage. "I will provide some time for further considerations, my dear," he continued, "But beware; I am not a patient man."

With horror in her eyes, she watched as the man bent closer towards her and for a split instant Christine believed he was going to kiss her. She jerked her face violently aside in disgust and heard him laugh lowly in response.

And so he left her shortly afterwards with promises to return and a warning to never speak of this to anyone; of course Christine had not intended to by any means. How she was able to drag herself into her room unseen on shaky feet and finally collapse in a trembling heap on her bed afterwards, Christine could hardly recollect. Such a hold had the fear, fatigue, and grief already taken over her…All she did remember however was that it took a prodigious amount of blind effort.

An hour later when she had sobbed herself into exhaustion and lay staring blankly at the ceiling, the door to her room opened very softly. Before she could jerk to a sitting position, a person gently called out her name.

"Christine?" he asked into the darkness. It was Raoul, obviously concerned when she had retired so early to bed without saying good-night.

Her only response was to softly turn over on one side and feign sleep as more tears drenched the downy pillows.

There was a short pause before the door closed once again.

**Thanks for Reading: **I'm sure I've given you enough clues to those mysterious letters now for many people to guess…don't worry though, more will be revealed shortly. Have to feel sorry for Christine though.


	13. New and Old Acquaintances

**Author's Notes:** Well, I'm back in college and the hiatus was not as long as I had planned. Please leave a review and help keep me motivated. Enjoy!

**Chapter 12: New and Old Acquaintances**

"You've greatly improved."

"Do you really think so? I have been practicing by myself often this week," said Meg with a bashful smile. They were both sitting on the piano bench and she had just finished playing a piece for Erik's scrutiny.

"Yes, you do indeed show promise, I am admittedly surprised," Erik confessed. "Here, try it in this scale, Meg."

She did after ignoring this hint of mockery and there was a short pause while her fingers flew busily over the keys. Almost instinctively, Meg had closed her eyes, deep in concentration while playing which caused Erik to smile faintly.

"Erik," she said presently after finishing, "Did you know that tomorrow is Maman's birthday?"

"Is it? I must have forgotten," he replied with some surprise.

"Yes and I'd like to do something special for her. I have spoken to Mme Arlette about holding a dinner party tomorrow. Just a small one with a few of the neighbors and Maman's old friends. Perhaps you might join us?" She stopped and turned to Erik with a hopeful expression.

"I do not believe that to be entirely suitable," he said slowly.

"Why not? I have made sure that no one should know you there."

"But there will be questions, Meg. Questions which I cannot provide satisfactory answers to and which could lead to talk."

"I did not think you cared so much about mere gossip," said Meg stoutly.

"I never did but for yours, Antoinette, and Mme Arlette's sakes instead, I would much rather remain out of sight tomorrow evening."

Judging from Erik's obstinate expression, Meg knew that it would be useless to argue further. She gave an inaudible sigh, "Well alright, if that is what you believe to be best."

"I do." He turned away and shifted his glance back to the piano. "It is best for everyone."

Though Erik refused to attend the dinner party, he did to Meg's surprise, agree to accompany her and Madame Arlette to the marketplace the next morning to pick up supplies. She had asked him many times before and had expected to hear the same solitary answer of "No, thank-you." Yet today, she watched Erik very casually stroll out of his room in a plain white shirt, black trousers, his mask on his face, and a brown felt hat pulled low over his head. She fairly gawked at this vast change in appearance, but upon seeing his twinkling eyes focused on her face with amusement, had to look away in embarrassment.

The drive to the market was silent between them while Madame Arlette chattered away about everything from the weather to the horrid state of the roads about the countryside. Upon reaching their destination, she had sprung sprightly from the carriage and wandered away in delight to "find the perfect gift for dear Antoinette". Erik and Meg were left alone amid the sprawl of morning stalls, dotted in a zigzag pattern over the busy streets.

"Well," said Meg, giving Erik half of a grocery list, "Let's keep our eyes open for these items."

The rest of the morning was spent in moving from shop to shop, pushing past crowds, and attempting to out shout overly zealous shop keepers.

"The flour, Erik! I have forgotten to buy the flour! Do you remember where to obtain some?" cried Meg with a start after having wandered through countless shops. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair stuck out in a ridiculous manner.

"I believe I just saw a man selling it there," replied Erik. He pointed and they were just proceeding across the road when a bouquet of red roses was pushed against his face.

"Care to purchase some flowers for your pretty sweetheart, monsieur? They have just arrived today and are at their freshest!" exclaimed a stout, elderly man with a good-natured face. He beamed at both Erik and Meg with a knowing smile.

Meg blushed while Erik distractedly turned his face away without responding. "No, monsieur, you are mistaken," she hurriedly attempted to correct the merchant, "We are not-not, I mean, we are just friends."

"Oh, I am very sorry for my error, Monsieur and Mlle! Perhaps my wife is correct after all in accusing me of living too much in novels. Here, I offer you this rose as an apology," said the distraught little man.

Erik stepped in and accepted the rose with a mocking smile, "It is not a problem at all, Monsieur, and an easy mistake." He turned to Meg and exaggerated a deep bow, "Will you accept this flower as a token of my affections, darling?"

She almost burst out laughing at this little charade but managed to suppress her merriment before dipping into a dainty curtsy. "Thank-you, love. Now if you will deign to find a suitable place in my hair for the pretty blossom."

Erik promptly tucked the rose into Meg's curls while the confused merchant looked on in astonishment, unsure of the sanity of the pair. Arm-in-arm, Meg and Erik made it half-way across the street before fairly collapsing in hilarity.

"Oh," gasped Meg between fits of laughter, "The poor creature must think us half-mad now! You are absolutely wicked, Erik, to play such a trick!"

"I should say the same thing to you, Meg for you seemed every bit as eager a moment ago. But what does it signify? He will run home to tell his wife tonight and we will only never be able to show our faces at that shop again," he answered mirthfully.

Glancing down, Erik noticed that Meg had dropped the little rose in her haste and bending down, retrieved it, before settling the posy back in her hair. "It does suite you," he said very lowly. By then their laughter had subsided though they were both left still out of breathe. Meg for a brief moment as he bent down so close to her actually believed Erik was going to kiss her. The thought left her with both a slight shiver half of anticipation and half of dread.

However, it quickly passed as he turned away with a "come, we ought to find Mme Arlette and return soon" and she followed along, feeling slightly ruffled and a little foolish.

The rest of the day was largely dedicated to cleaning the house from top to bottom at which even Erik agreed to help with. The furniture was carefully dusted, books tucked away neatly on the shelves, rugs beaten with energy by Meg on the porch, and a wonderful feast skillfully prepared by the cook in the kitchen. All were neatly put into place as guests begun filing through the front door and Madame Arlette finally brought the astonished Antoinette Giry into the room after having successfully distracted her for the afternoon. Everyone at the cottage later agreed that the evening was indeed a success and the melt-in-your-mouth roasted goose for dinner was only an added benefit.

The guests fairly stuffed themselves and Meg though secretly worrying for Erik was especially pleased to reunite with a childhood friend of hers at the event. They had played together as very small children until his mother, a former singer at the Opera Populaire, had decided to move to England for the next seven years. During all this time, Francesco Avnet from Meg's point-of-view had transformed from the scrawny, ruffled-haired child she remembered to a tall, dark-haired youth with poignant brown eyes and the tanned visage of an Italian from his father's side. It seemed that the only thing that hadn't changed was his smile which still possessed that charismatic charm.

"My son, Francesco," presented Madame Avnet, "He is in his last year of college at Oxford University and will be going into law afterwards. My daughter was unfortunately wanted at home with the baby and could not come."

"A pleasure to see you again, Francesco," replied Madame Giry, scrutinizing the young men under her keen blue gaze before warmly shaking his hand. "Based on those accomplishments mentioned by your maman, you have much to be proud of." She turned to Madame Avnet with a smile and whispered playfully, "He is a very handsome boy."

Meg, who was putting the finishing touches on a vase full of flowers at the table, was soon re-introduced to Francesco.

He made her a very formal bow and a polite, "How do you do, Mlle Giry?" which Meg laughed off before shaking his hand jovially.

"No needs for such ceremonies since after all aren't we old friends? Please call me Meg," she said.

"Only if you will call me Francesco," he replied, her carefree manner immediately putting him at ease. "You haven't changed one bit, Meg, from what I last remembered you. Only gotten much taller.

"I should say the same to you," said Meg with amusement, "I'm half disappointed for I can't tease and call you tadpole anymore as I used to."

He pretended to grimace, "You still remember that?"

"Yes and that you used to cry every time I did so." They both broke into peals of merry laughter.

During dinner, Francesco claimed a seat next to Meg and the pair spoke frequently, reflecting on childhood adventures with new found sagacity and discovering they had much in common still. They both admired several popular philosophers, read much though Francesco amazed Meg on the breadth of his own knowledge compared to hers, shared a passion for all matters pertaining to the theater, had the same contempt and dislike for English cooking, and so much more as they continued to talk.

"You have seen so much of the world," cried Meg with sparkling eyes just as Francesco had finished describing to her his two month long summer stay at Venice. "I have only seen those famous canals and floating gondolas in paintings and read of them. But how delightful to be able to see them in person, to be independent and travel the world alone as one liked! You must extremely happy!"

"Ah, but it can be both lonely and wearisome after a time, Meg. Home was never sweeter than when I had just returned from a long trip abroad. Even college did not seem so tedious afterwards." There was a pause as the blanc mange was being served.

"Your maman mentioned that you are currently studying law at the university. How do you like it?" she asked after dinner while the rest of the guests were scattered around a cozy fire. To Meg who knew little of the matter, the subject was almost entirely alien to her.

"It is a secure profession which she had encouraged me to pursue," Francesco exclaimed with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "To speak the truth, I do it only to please her for the alternative, that is, what I would like to do, would be much more risky and perhaps not half as fruitful."

"And what is it that truly interests you?" inquired Meg, feeling that her friend had not as much freedom as she had originally thought.

"Since my days living at the old Opera Populaire, I have always been intrigued by the performing arts. But I regrettably do not have enough talent as maman to make a living out of it and cannot afford to dream idle dreams for long."

She felt for his disappointment and tried to offer some words of comfort as well as courage. "Francesco, I would never dare go against the wise advice of your maman but I do believe that you ought to do what makes you most happy. All the professional security in the world would be meaningless and only lead to a lifetime of tedium if you were to despise your occupation."

He turned to Meg and looked at her with deep respect reflecting in his brown eyes. "Thank you for these words. Judging from your wisdom, I believe had you attended my university you would surely have been the top student there." A smile sweetly lit up his features.

Meg blushed at this compliment and the two were just launching into a lively discussion over the works of Voltaire when Madame Avnet suddenly interrupted by announcing to the guests that she and Madame Giry would like to perform a little duet on the piano. This was beautifully done for the former sang like an angel while the latter accompanied with a lively tune on the old instrument.

Several of the couples at the dinner party then separated into dancing partners on the drawing room floor at Madame Avnet's gracious encouragement. Meg silently watched them until turning back to Francesco, she saw that he too had risen from his seat and was now bowing to her.

"I remember a long time ago we used to dance very well together in the opera house garden. How about another go?" he asked jovially.

Accepting the offered hand with a bright smile and curtsy, Meg Giry was soon sailing gracefully away in Francesco's arms. They did indeed danced well together for both were nimble on their feet and what steps they did not know, the pair was able to share much laughter over in their attempts. In fact, so oblivious was the entire party in their revelry, no one at all noticed the tall shadowy figure lurking in the dark staircase leading to the second floor.

There was a strange expression on Erik's face as he stood on the stairs that one could almost interpret as being a combination of both longing and perhaps even jealousy. He had been attracted there by the music and observed the entire dance quietly. And just now, his eyes were steadily fixed on a certain blond-haired girl happily dancing with a dark-haired youth. A feeling that Erik believed was or at least should have been long gone suddenly overcame him as he stared, and the poor creature had to hurriedly tear his gaze away before ascending back up the steps and closing a door behind him.

"My sister and I are going on a drive tomorrow morning in the countryside. It will be in an open carriage and will allow for a full view of the wonderful sceneries. Perhaps, I could convince you to join us?" asked Francesco as the evening came to a close and the guests were preparing for their departure.

Meg very much wanted to go for the weeks of seclusion at the quiet cottage pressed on her girlish desire for adventure or at least a breathe of fresh air. But she checked herself to ask, "But will your maman mind?"

"Not at all, dear," cried Madame Avnet enthusiastically. She had drifted close enough to overhear the conversation. "And I'm sure my Beth would love to meet you."

Madame Giry too gave her permission readily when Meg asked. With such favorable answers and Francesco smiling eagerly behind her, what could she do but agree? So the date was indeed fixed and the door closed behind the last satisfied guest.

Sitting at a writing desk in a dark corner, Erik was scribbling away on several sheets of paper when there came a soft knock on the door. He frowned at the interruption, quickly covered up his work, and called out "come!" in a sharp, testy voice.

Meg came in with a slice of cake at hand. "I helped Colette bake this today and was able to save you a slice. Try it; it's delicious," she said, offering the dessert.

Taking a bite to oblige her without even a nod of acknowledgement, Erik impatiently pushed the plate away. A certain sulky moodiness enshrouded him.

She watched his actions and felt a bit hurt. "I also came to say that everyone's left and you can come downstairs if you like," Meg continued.

"Perhaps later."

"How is your night?"

"Could have been better."

"Is there something the matter, Erik?" she ventured.

"No, why would you think such a thing?" he looked away and hid his face back in the shadows.

"No reason, only you seem rather quiet and withdrawn," she said which was ironic for Erik was almost always "quiet and withdrawn".

He opened his mouth but thought better than to provoke an argument with her. Instead, rubbing his head with his hands, he simply replied, "I'm tired and will be going to bed soon. Will you take this to Antoinette for me?" Erik produced a small package wrapped in brown paper and handed it to Meg.

"What is it?"

"A birthday gift."

"Oh Erik, that's wonderful!" she cried, "You should give this to her yourself. Maman will be so happy!"

"It's better if you do it for me. Will you?"

"Yes but are you sure, Erik? I know Maman would like best to receive it from your own hands."

"I'm sure. Will you, Meg?" he asked again.

She nodded, accepted the package, and walked towards the door. "Good-night, Erik. I was sorry that you couldn't join us tonight."

"Good-night, Meg," Erik answered before the door softly closed. "I'm sorry too," he whispered to the dark room.

Downstairs, Madame Giry unwrapped the little package with tears in her eyes and found a music box. It was made of gleaming mahogany wood with cleverly carved vines and grapes running up and down the sides. Upon opening the lid, the porcelain figure of a miniature ballerina traced circles in the air to a soft tinkling melody. It was breathtakingly beautifully and for a time, Antoinette could not say a word.

**Thanks for Reading: **I've actually thinking of a new outline to this story since I had not originally planned in a Francesco Avnet. However, here he is and I might have fallen in love with my own OC. –laughs- Just a warning, this new outline might involve a tragic end to a well-beloved character in contrary to the original one. I can't quite decide yet…

Also, I will not be updating half-as often as I did over the summer since classes this fall are rather demanding. But don't worry, this summer I will be interning again, will have plenty of free time on my hands and if this isn't finished by then, will be writing lots more.


	14. A Reprieve

**Author's Notes:** Wow, it has been a really long time since I've updated this story. Many apologies to my readers if I haven't lost them already. With college, I will do my best to find time to write more (The next chapter will be finished soon actually). Also be assured that this story will remain Meg + Erik and not Meg + OC.

Last but definitely not least, please leave a review. It will motivate me to update faster.

**Chapter 13: A Reprieve**

There came a knock very early the next morning at the cottage door. The maid whose room was located downstairs was awakened first from her slumber and tip-toed barefoot down the hall to answer the call.

"Hallo!" came a cheerful male voice from across the wooden threshold. "It's Francesco, come for Meg and the promised chaise ride this morning. Is she ready?"

"But so early?" answered Sophia, thinking secretly in her mind that this boy must certainly be mad, "I don't believe the mademoiselle is even up yet." She was mistaken however by the assumption for scarcely had she spoken these words when there came a breathless answer by Meg from upstairs.

"No, no! I'm almost ready! Sophie, please ask Francesco and his sister to wait for a moment in the hall." There followed several great clatters as of something heavy being pushed hastily out of the way and quick pattering footsteps down the staircase before Meg's tousled head suddenly appeared in the doorway. She was bundled in a long woolen scarf, small boots on her feet, and a dark blue shawl covered her shoulders. The skirt of her simple white muslin dress rustled noisily on the ground in Meg's haste and several strands of golden hair had come loose to frame her face becomingly. A soft beam of morning light from the half open door lit and seemed to form a soft halo about her fair head.

"Ah, I thought you had forgotten," answered Francesco after a brief pause in which he gazed with evident admiration in his blue eyes at the girl before him.

She laughed and averted his gaze while buttoning up her gloves, "Of course not, I've been looking forward to today after all. Maman says I ought to be back before supper though."

The carriage was a grand little contraption with gilded plush seats, an open top, and a pair of chestnut horses harnessed to it. Inside this carriage, Meg could make out an elegant lady as if born to recline in such finery all her life. She wore a forest green velvet dress, a bunch of flowers arranged prettily on her dainty hat, and a warm muff was wrapped around her hands. Upon seeing Meg descend down the porch steps with Francesco, she went out of the carriage and rushed to offer her hand in welcome.

"How wonderful it is to finally meet you, darling. My brother has spoken so much about you and I can see we will be great friends already," smiled the lady with a languid air. "My name is Rose by the way; his sister." She looked Meg up and down with a scrutinizing sparkle in her brown eyes and seemed to discern at once the bit of mud splatter clinging to the skirt of her dress. In any case, poor Meg felt rather self conscious.

The weather was extremely pleasant during the drive and the carriage passed through several strips of scenic valleys and picturesque towns on the outskirts of Paris. Several green buds were already blossoming on the trees and the moist late winter air rested comfortable against Meg's cheeks. She half-reclined against the side of the carriage and tried to concentrate on Rose's busy chatter as well as admire the greenery of the countryside. Being a lady who considered herself the fashionable side of society and meant to show it off, Rose as soon as Francesco had laid whip to the horses, begun to speak very fast and glibly about the winter balls they had attended and held already in Paris, something about a certain Duchess who she was trying to ignore but would simply not get the message, the latest fashion in summer dress which was being rumored at, and continual criticisms at the weather.

"It's been raining nonstop these past few weeks, you know," cried Rose, "and I simply cannot stand for it. There is nothing that puts me into a more sullen mood than rain, snow, and other such nonsense. Why, I have been encouraging my husband to take a winter house in Naples recently for the weather is much better there but he simply will not listen. Says he to me, 'My dear, the rain will stop when you yourself stop such needless fretting.' I daresay, Charles can be a dear when he tries to please me but insufferable at other times."

Meg could find no better answer to the following speech than to smile and nod which Rose took as encouragement enough to continue.

"Meg!" and Francesco who was sitting in the front seats and driving the horses rather quickly, interrupted, "Look yonder at that fine grove of willow trees and the little farmhouse with a plume of smoke coming out of its chimney spout."

"Where?" asked Meg, straining to look and nearly falling over in the seats during her attempt. "I cannot see it unfortunately."

"Then perhaps you might take a seat up front here and thus obtain a better view," answered Francesco with a smile.

"Oh don't be ridiculous, brother," scowled Rose who had taken a peculiar liking to Meg already, "She's perfectly comfortable here in the back with me."

A little sibling row was about to take place until Meg interrupted with the conciliatory suggestion that she stayed as she was until the return journey when she would join Francesco in the front. At this idea, peace again resumed in the carriage.

Presently, the carriage reached a fork in the road and turned towards a forested area. In the distance, the sound of running water as if from a stream could be heard.

"Where are we going?" asked Meg in wonderment as she, Francesco, and his sister alighted from the carriage. The midday sun felt deliciously warm on her skin.

"What do you say to a picnic, Meg?" asked Francesco with a smile as they walked down a path among the trees. Rays of filtered sunlight fell like gold all around the dewy earth, highlighting their surroundings. "I discovered this place as a child and remembered coming here with Maman and Rose when not at the opera house. It has been a long time since I was last at this spot."

They settled themselves in a shaded area under a clump of trees bordered by the running stream and supped on tea, bread, cheese, and cold ham. The morning drive had made the three rather ravenous and they ate hungrily, declaring the simple fare scrumptious.

Meg lounged lusciously on the cool grass and watched Francesco skip pebbles into the brook. All around, she could discern the calls of unseen birds and the flutter of wings mingled with the plop, plop of falling stones and noisy chatter from Rose beside her.

It was all so wonderfully peaceful and tranquil and Meg could not suppress a happy sigh as a slight breeze brushed her cheeks. There were tiny dancing specks of golden sunlight which swayed amid the dark shadows cast by the trees. She had her eyes fixed lazily upon them when Francesco, bored of his activity by the brook, came to lie on the grass by her and Rose's feet.

"You're looking very pensive at the moment, Meg," he begun to tease her.

Her blue eyes belied her surprise at the sound of his voice. Meg shook her head smilingly. "I was only thinking how lovely this spot is and what nice weather we're having. It seems like a very long time since I've had careless days like these."

Francesco glanced at her and wondered at Meg's candid remark. "I'm happy you like here; perhaps we might come back sometimes soon."

"Yes, I would like that," answered Meg without a thought. A spot of sunlight was slowly making its way through the trees to warm her white hands.

There was a brief pause before Rose broke the silence with a fresh stream of gossip about a certain acquaintance of hers who had run away from a respectable home to elope with a poor artist. Of course, they were friends no longer; she went out of the way in the streets to avoid disreputable people such as these; she even heard that they now lived a shockingly pitiful life in a flat in the Rue Venues with two children and a third on its way.

Meg, angered at these remarks, had such difficulty restraining her comments that she could not help breaking in: "But as long as they are in love, what does it all matter? They will gain the sort of happiness which a fortune no matter how large can ever buy, no approval from society ever make complete."

"But dear," cried Rose with a sardonic smile, "even you must admit that one cannot live on love alone."

Meg could not but it deeply grieved her nevertheless to acknowledge such pessimistic ideas.

Francesco, who was lazily plucking the grass with one hand and overhearing the conversation, perhaps to change the topic asked Meg whether she still wanted to become a famous dancer as she had once declared to him as a child.

"I don't know anymore," she replied with her head lowered, "Since the Opera Populaire was destroyed, I have had no real place to perform and practice unfortunately." She sighed and leaned back against the tree. Those once extravagant dreams of hers in joining a famous ballet and performing for the emperor were just those now, dreams only. She would be like all the other young women her age now, waiting for either marriage or spinsterhood.

Suddenly, the forest didn't seem half so beautiful anymore.

Francesco called often at the cottage over the course of the next month, sometimes coming alone, sometimes bringing either Rose or his mother. And gradually after the third visit, Mme Giry urged him to stay for dinner for which he politely accepted. Meg, who had felt a bit suspicious at first of his constant presence and for Erik's sake too, gradually found herself warming to his presence. For he always brought bits of interesting news to the sometimes lonely cottage, laughed easily, and was always so confident and at ease around others that she could not help but be reassured. Meg never wondered why he came so often and if she ever thought of it privately in her room sometimes, the very idea seemed very perverse and impossible to her. She never wondered why he was so solicitous to her and so steadily supplied the small library with books she delighted in; why he saw the little piano in the drawing room and the next day brought her new sheets of easy music which he claimed was from his sister. No, Meg never suspected any of Francesco's actions or the motives behind them for she saw him only as a dear sweet boy with a bright future ahead of him, the former playmate who had cried when she pinched him.

But Erik did notice.

He knew without spoken words that Christine was keeping a secret from him for there always continued to hang about them that air of tension. Raoul felt it when he bent down to kiss her in the mornings over breakfast and she returned his affectionate gesture with cold, marble lips. He saw it in her growing paleness as winter gradually melted away to reveal spring. She stayed inside a great deal now as if afraid of something outside, musing over the fireplace with a book spread forgotten in her lap. In such a moment, he dared not approach her. Once he had tried questioning her but before the words were even out of his mouth, his eyes had already betrayed his sorrow and Christine had turned violently away and stammered out some incomprehensible reply. And so really, he could do nothing but stand by silently and watch; doubts buried deep in his heart.

It was a chilly day in late February when having returned early from business in the late afternoon, Raoul had again found Christine buried in the same brown armchair beside the fireplace. A little sound had brought him to her side. She lay with her eyes closed, her dark hair hanging like a mantle around her face; the warmth of the fire had brought a rosy glow to her cheeks. Even in sleep, Christine had found little peace but was caught in the throes of a nightmare. Every so often she would sigh deeply and toss her head sharply against the cushion.

"Raoul, Raoul," she murmured with a worried frown on her face.

Alarmed, he had reached over and gently rested a hand on Christine's shoulder to wake her. But scarcely had his finger brushed the fabric of her dress then her great brown eyes shot wide open. She regarded him for an instance it seemed without recognition for she suddenly shrank nervously away. It seemed in that instance as he watched her, that never before had she revealed so much to him in her eyes than at that moment when she was caught unaware in her sleep. Still so much fear, so much sorrow there.

"Christine, you were having a nightmare. I only wanted to wake you."

At the sound of his voice, the glaze cleared from her eyes although she continued to gaze up at him mournfully. "Oh, I must have fallen asleep while reading. It must be very late; I've lost track of the time." She shifted, made a motion as if to rise, and caused the book to fall from her lap onto the floor with a sharp plop.

"Christine-" he begun.

"Please Raoul," she murmured impatiently, averting her eyes, "Please don't question me. I was only having a bad dream but it's over now and…and…" She suddenly stopped all motion, all speech and uttered a small sob. Tears glistened on her lashes and Christine could not continue.

He moved to take her in his arms and she did not offer resistance, but instead took up one of his hands and pressed a kiss on it.

"Perhaps it might ease your mind if you told me," he said soothingly.

She turned to Raoul and there was a short silence before Christine could finally speak. "I dreamt that this time, he didn't let us go, that he killed you in front of my eyes. And I could do nothing, nothing but watch because I was too afraid..." She stopped and two great tears fell from her eyes.

"Darling, it's over now. It's over." He tightened his clasp and kissed the top of her tousled head. "I'm here now and nothing will separate us ever again." This was the first time, she had ever broached the subject of the Phantom to him since that horrible night.

"No, no! It isn't over! Don't you see, Raoul?" she suddenly cried with a wild look, "He taught me all he knew, loved me and I repaid that love with my betrayal. Surely, I must still yet pay for my sins for destroying so many lives. Surely, I do not deserve to be happy."

It seemed that months of suppressed feelings had finally roused this outburst.

"Christine, why did you think he released us in the first place? Because, he wanted you to be happy. If not with him then elsewhere." He stopped, unsure of why he of all people was defending the Phantom. Swallowing hard, Raoul asked the next question, "Christine, would you have been happier had you stayed?" He looked into her eyes and felt the same doubt and grief as he had experienced the night of Don Juan Triumphant when behind the curtains he had silently watched their performance. And it seemed at that moment, Christine and the Phantom was already living in a world of their own, a world that he would never belong to.

"Raoul, why would you ask me such a thing? Life for me down there in the dungeons would have been worse than death. To never see sunlight again, or Meg and Madame Giry, and most of all you. To be forever his prisoner…" Christine trembled as if exposed to a great chill and turned her face silently to Raoul. "Do you doubt me and think I have regrets? Then reassure yourself when I say that it is you, Raoul, whom I love, whom I have always loved."

"No, I've never doubted you. It was only a moment of foolishness on my part," he quickly replied, swallowing a lump in his throat.

They clung to one another and sealed the moment with a kiss. And though inwardly glad that this little conversation had taken place, doubt secretly continued to rest in their hearts.

The following week, a mysterious event occurred which sent shockwaves throughout the de Chagny household. Anne had been mysteriously pushed down a flight of steps and locked in the cellar while unconscious for over two days by a mysterious assailant. Gravely injured, the frightened maid had lain in bed for over a week and quit on the spot upon being able to leave the guestroom. She left with a description of a hulking man all shrouded in a black cloak as her attacker. The next day, Christine Daae received another note tied to a single long stemmed red rose.


	15. The Confession

**Author's Notes: **As I promised, a much faster update though I admit to have written most of it over winter break. Enjoy and please spare a moment to review!

**Chapter 14: The Confession**

She had been found by the butler at the foot of the old stairs to the cellar. Weak from pain and shock, her throat had been so parched from thirst that she could hardly call for help. A terrible sprain on her ankle had rendered her immoveable and bed ridden for two weeks. Not to mention the shock and fear which came with such an incident.

The entire de Chagny household pleaded with Anne to remain at her position upon her recovery.

"You have provided many years of loyal and irreplaceable service towards my family. Is there nothing I can say to convince you to stay?" asked Raoul. His whole figure betrayed worry and strain for even at that moment, both guards and servants were still combing the grounds for the intruder.

Anne shook her graying head. "I have been in your family's service for twenty years now and have proudly watched you grow from a small babe, sir. But these old bones of mine are getting creaky with age. She smiled gently at Raoul and continued, "My sister has invited me to live with her at her cottage in Le Venue for years now. I have finally decided to accept."

Raoul sighed with resignation, "Very well, Anne. My family and I wish you all the best. He stepped forward and warmly pressed her hand, "We will miss you."

They parted shortly afterwards, Anne with tears in her soft blue eyes at leaving her kind master. "Be careful, sir. Be careful and take care of the young mademoiselle," she whispered to Raoul.

An hour later, Christine descended the staircase where she found Raoul still lingering in the sitting room. He sat with his head cradled in his hands, apparently musing on something, and she could not see his face from where the armchair was turned away. "Has Elle left already?" Christine asked, almost afraid to break the crystal stillness of the room, "I had wanted to say good-bye and give her a few things." There was a covered basket filled containing several articles including a new warm shawl in her hand.

He slowly turned about to regard her wearily and noticed that his fiancé's eyes were red. As if she had been crying. But Raoul did not rise from the chair to go to her. "Yes, she has left. I promised her, however, that we will pay a visit sometimes soon."

Christine nodded. "And is there any news on the whereabouts of the assailant?"

"I'm afraid not although Detective Monet has recently discovered a scrap of black cloth on the grounds which he believes belongs to the culprit. There is no certainty however."

"I see." She walked up to the back of the brown armchair where he rested, encircled her arms round his neck, and bent to place an impulsive kiss on Raoul's forehead.

His blue eyes betrayed his surprise at such a nowadays rare demonstration of affection from Christine.

"We will get through all this somehow, Raoul," she said. A shadow of a melancholy smile played about her lips and she released her hold. "But know that whatever happens, I love you."

"And I love you" answered Raoul with his eyes half-closed, wondering about the foreboding half of her words to him. He continued to sit rigidly and turned away from Christine.

"I'm feeling a bit tired and want a light nap. If you need me Raoul, I'll be in my room," she continued, her voice very calm.

He still did not turn around, "Of course. I will be in my office with a bit of business to attend to. So I will see you at dinner then?"

She made no answer and he assumed she had not heard him. There came the light rustle of her skirts vanishing back up the stairs. Raoul continued to sit tensely in the armchair and allowed the atmosphere of tension to enshroud him.

It was later when Christine failed to appear for dinner that he had gone upstairs to knock on her door. There was no response and after the third attempt, deeply concerned, Raoul had gone inside to find the bed empty, the sheets completely undisturbed. "Christine! Christine!" he called, a foreboding sense of alarm creeping over him. A breeze coming from the open windows caused the white satin curtains to billow outwardly like a pair of ghostly phantoms. She was not in the room nor outside on the balcony. His voice alone echoed hollowly against the emptiness.

Then dizzy from panic and with trembling hands, Raoul had flung open the wardrobe and found several of the items inside missing along with the old trunk which could normally be found resting on the bottom shelf. "Oh God," he breathed and dashed out the door like a madman, continuing to call out her name.

The single white envelope, folded neatly and smelling faintly of roses, on her writing desk lay unnoticed for the moment.

There had been, likewise, an air of tension which crept unnoticed into the otherwise peaceful little cottage. Meg felt it so as she carefully folded up the square note from Rose, an invitation to a winter ball. 'Come early, dear. Some friends and I will be having tea and preparing ourselves for the night. We would be ecstatic if you might join us,' it had read in Rose's usually frivolous manner.

She was sharing a carriage with a friend and her maman and seeing that Madame Giry was in the marketplace on some errands, Meg had carefully packed her dress and a few ornaments and gone down the stairs. Tucked away in a dark space between clumps of shrubbery in the garden, she saw Erik through the glass panes of the dining room windows. Her eyes had become accustomed nowadays in distinguishing his figure from the shadowy surroundings which he favored. Meg waved and observed that leaning against a tree, Erik had looked up and seen her. He quickly averted his eyes and resumed his blank gaze into the distance. She went out the front door with a disappointed shake of her head. _He's only sulking because I'll be missing our lesson for this week again. But I've been practicing on my own and Erik will see how much I've improved._ And with this excuse firmly imprinted on her mind, Meg got into the carriage determined to enjoy herself that night.

Tea was followed by elegant sweetmeats and lively gossip. The ladies were all very kind to her and although Meg at first tended to listen rather than to speak, it was not long until she felt very much at ease at among them. There came a clatter of china while the tea things were being cleared away and a momentary lull in conversation before the ladies proceeded up the stairs to dress for the ball.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Meg watched the other's elaborate silk ball gowns before shaking out the filmy folds of her own simple white muslin. She could not hide the blush creeping to her face as she fiddled with a newly discovered tear along the hemline. Dare she ask for a needle and thread from the others who now sat like jeweled peacocks all around?

"Oh dear," said Rose, who had been observing Meg's gown with a puckered lip, "Of course, I can have Diane bring up a needle and thread. But perhaps she will not finish in time. But only look here though for I have just the thing. Here is an extra lavender silk of mine which would fit you to perfection."

Meg shook her head and politely refused but several others who had heard Rosalie's shrill voice, stepped forward in further persuasion.

"Please Meg," pleaded Rose with a winning look, "Only be a dear and try it on for me. You needn't wear it if it's not to your liking."

Now while she was not at all ashamed of having a lifestyle which is just enough to live comfortably on with occasional luxuries, that night Meg Giry allowed her girlish desires for pretty things overcome her pride. It was a moment of foolish vanity which permitted Rose to lace her into the gown and later with the help of the other ladies to curl and pouf her hair until it hung like a halo of little golden ringlets. Vanity which allowed them to tie borrowed jewels around her neck. To the bit of offered rouge for her cheeks, however, Meg had been adamant in her refusal and later blushed to see how low cut the silk gown rested on her white shoulders.

"There, I've finished," declared Rose with a finishing pat and a satisfied look reminiscent of a child with a new doll to dress. "You look absolutely stunning, my dear." And there came little murmurs of agreement from the others as well as hidden feelings of envy that they had not such white shoulders, golden hair, and pretty features.

Something changed for Meg as she spun around to regard the image that resembled her and at the same time was not she reflected in the gilded mirror. A sense of self restraint seemed to have fled and she watched from afar as this Meg Giry accepted the compliments and flatteries from the men at the ball which inevitably came, who giggled foolishly and even made attempts at flirting, and who drank it seemed a great deal of wine and danced every waltz. The perfumed air blurred with the music, the rich tapestries draped about the elegant ballroom, and the refined laughter of upper-class Parisians seemed to have possessed her. It spun and swayed with every step of her feet till she could bear the haze of twirling lights and colors no longer.

Out of breath, Meg finally sank into a chair with a little sigh. She sat in a curtained corner of the room and quite alone too. Francesco had after a worried look in her direction been dragged away to the billiard's room by some college friends and from across the room, Rose was chatting gaily away with a group of colorfully dressed young ladies.

"I really ought to getting home. It must be very late," she murmured and rose unsteadily to her feet in search of her two companions. Yet through the dwindling crowd did Meg look in vain for both her friend Jeanne and Mme. Deberle were nowhere to be found.

"Oh, I had forgotten to tell you," cried Rose with a shake of her head upon Meg's worried question, "Mlle Deberle hurt her ankle while dancing and had to leave early with her maman. She had instructed me to tell you since you had seemed preoccupied at the moment. But it completely slipped my mind, I'm afraid. If you like, several of the guests will be staying overnight and I can likewise assign you a room. Or I could send for Zephyrin who might fetch my carriage to send you home?"

"Home, please," murmured Meg faintly, her cheeks very flushed, "I'm afraid I've got a headache. And Maman would be very worried if she does not see me in the morning."

"Dear, I hope it is nothing serious!" and Rose at once rang for the butler who came around presently with the carriage.

Meg got in still wearing the silk gown which she promised to return as soon as she could. The cool night air felt delightful against her hot cheeks as she leaned out the carriage window to wave.

"Good-bye, Meg," Francesco had said, kissing her hand with a gallant bow at the door, "It was a pleasure to see you tonight." He had helped her tie the strings of her cloak, reaching around with his hands as they stood together, facing a mirror in the vestibule. Something about the expression on his face reflected back frightened her then, the look of unhidden admiration which had made Meg turn around abruptly and murmur her own few words of parting.

The cottage lights were long dimmed when she tip-toed through the front door and noiselessly closed it behind her. She had to fumble through the darkness of the adjoining sitting room to discover the kerosene lamp. It gave off a soft yellow circle of light, a small beacon cutting across the night.

Against the cool leather of the sofa, Meg at last let herself sink into. Her cheeks still felt flushed and the room continued to tilt grotesquely through her blurred eyes. "Oh, I don't feel well," she murmured, rubbing her temples.

"Can't say you look so well either," came a voice from beside her. It was Erik all stretched out and lounging lazily on a couch nearby.

"Why aren't you at such an hour in bed?" snapped Meg. She had startled sharply and turned with a jerk in his direction, her eyes struggling to focus on the dark figure unmasked and wrapped in a cloak.

"I might ask you the same question."

She pretended indifference. "I suppose I simply lost track of the time. Jeanne had to leave early and Rose was kind enough to lend me her carriage."

"And presumably that dress as well?"

"She did. My old one tore."

"It doesn't suit you at all."

So he was trying to goad her then. Meg would not let herself be taken in so easily, not tonight anyways when the buzzing in her head would not subside and a part of herself felt detached from her own body. "A man whose entire wardrobe is composed entirely of black, red, or a combination of both cannot be asked to act as a rational judge of fashion," she retorted.

He made no comment and there was a momentary pause. "How was the ball?"

"Wonderful, everyone was very kind and I greatly enjoyed the dancing."

"And the wine and flatteries of rich, obtuse snobs, I suppose, as well?"

She exhaled a deep breathe and tried in vain to swallow her pride. "You enjoy provoking me, don't you?"

"Yes, it is rather amusing from time to time. Especially tonight in any case."

"I wish you would find more productive and less irritating means of entertaining yourself then," Meg retorted with a look of exasperation.

"That's much too troublesome at the moment. I'm quite comfortable as I am for now."

Rising abruptly from the couch to leave caused her head to spin mercilessly and she had to clutch and steady herself on the edge of a table. "Well I haven't time for this and am going to bed. It's getting late." The old grandfather clock on the mantelpiece read a quarter past three in the morning.

"Was he there?"

The unexpected question caught Meg by surprise like a missile sent into the air and she turned abruptly around to look directly at Erik for the first time. He had not so much as shifted in his chair. "Are you referring to Monsieur Avnet?"

"Who else?"

"Didn't I tell you? The ball was held on his estate so of course he was."

"Should have guessed," Erik replied in a low voice and turned his eyes to gaze in sudden fascination at the green draperies covering the windows.

The spell of dizziness momentarily gone, Meg suddenly felt herself to be in a wicked, vengeful humor herself. "You aren't jealous now, Erik?"

If the light from the kerosene lamp had shone brighter, she might have noticed the look of surprise in Erik's eyes. "Jealous? What an absurd, ridiculous notion you accuse me of!"

"But it isn't absurd at all if it's true. Don't deny it." She expected him to burst out in sardonic laughter in which case Meg would allow herself to as well and the matter would have ended. Yet somehow, he seemed to be taking her words more seriously.

"If you suggest that I envy being both pretentious and completely lacking in an intelligent mind then I must plead guilty, Mlle."

"No, I mean he is a gentleman and you by far are not. And why do you accuse Monsieur Avnet of such things when you haven't even met him?"

"I've heard your conversations when he comes here sometimes."

"So you're eavesdropping now? If so, here is further proof for my earlier opinion. A gentleman would never spy on a lady." Meg was suddenly furious again.

She had succeeded in rousing him as well for Erik now stood up with a swift motion in his chair to face her. "Not eavesdropping but forced to hear for these walls aren't nearly as muted as you may believe. But perhaps you are indeed correct in your assertions; a gentleman must have a sense of honor which I apparently lack."

"I would not go so far as to say that, Erik." Meg sighed with a shake of her head, "I'm not exactly myself tonight so please don't take my words too seriously. On the contrary, in fact, I have always held much respect and esteem for you as a person."

Her tender words seem to move him deeply for Erik slowly got to his feet and steadily approached Meg until the pair stood a mere several inches apart. She could clearly make out the rise and fall of his breast as he drew breath and it seemed Erik had sighed as well. Flustered by his proximity, Meg was about to move back until she felt her arm gently arrested in a firm grip.

"Then you are the first and only one," Erik murmured.

She was conscious then of a series of events which seemed to occur in precise unison. A sweep of his black cloak which temporarily seemed to obscure her vision, being swept into a pair of strong arms, her lips pressed against something both warm and soft, and a deep voice which whispered in her ear the words, "Perhaps you were right after all, my dear. Perhaps I _was_ simply being jealous."

And before she could so much as gasp out a reply, Erik had just as abruptly disappeared into his room; the door closed noiselessly behind him and Meg Giry was left to sink in a daze onto the couch; her balance and nerves completely stolen away. No, such a thing was simply impossible…it only happened in novels but never in real life. The room was spinning dizzily again and Meg was very much aware of the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks. She did not attempt to bang on Erik's door and demand an explanation. She was far too tired, too flustered to even think let alone move. Instead, pressing her face to the delicious coolness of a cushion, Meg squeezed her eyes closed. On the mantelpiece, the clock chimed exactly four o'clock.

Early the next morning, Sophia awoke to find her mistress with her head resting asleep on folded arms and a smile it seemed blooming on her rosy lips. The oil lamp on the little table had burnt itself out and gave forth a thin trail of hazy smoke. "Poor dear," murmured the maid to herself as she laid a spare blanket on the sleeping girl's shoulders and stole softly back out the room, "She must have had a busy night."

**Thanks for Reading**: Yay! The much anticipated kiss has just taken place. I wasn't satisfied at all with the scene as I wrote it so many apologies if it seems hard to read. Will definitely try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can though.


	16. Alone Once More

**Author's Notes: **Here's a new chapter for everyone. I had half written this on notebook paper and finally got the motivation to type it up. Thanks to Genne and the rest of my wonderful readers for leaving so many reviews and inspiring me to update faster this time. Enjoy and review as always!

**Chapter 15: Alone Once More**

A large crystal lamp cast a yellow circle of light into the otherwise darkened room. It wavered and danced playfully over the heavy velvet curtains drawn to fend off the rising darkness outside, gave the redwood furniture a rosy glow, and illuminated the haggard shadows on Raoul de Chagny's face as he sat tensely in his chair. Across from him lounged the shape of another man.

"Now are you certain, Vicomte, that your fiancé left no word of where she might have gone?"

'No, she did not," Raoul answered, eyeing the squat diminutive creature with the oiled mustache and beady eyes solemnly.

"Well, Vicome, I know not what to say," continued Detective Cartier. "So far, we have discovered no evidence of any sort of a violent struggle in conjunction to a kidnapping." He continued unnerved after noticing a bitter grimace on Raoul's face at the words "violent struggle" and "kidnapping". "My men have already questioned all of your staff as well as the surrounding locals and they claim to have neither heard nor seen anything unusual."

"What is it that you imply, Monsieur?" asked Raoul with an edge to his voice. The poor man had not slept for three nights now…ever since Christine's disappearance.

"I am saying, Vicomte, that perhaps Mlle. Daae left on her own free will," replied the detective with a pointed look. He rose abruptly from his chair and proceeded to pace back and forth across the drawing room with his hands folded behind him.

"No!" Raoul cried and was himself startled by the desperation so apparent in his voice. "No," he repeated with lowered head, "You are mistaken. It is not like Christine these days to leave without first informing me of her whereabouts. It is not like her at all." Then turning to the detective with the look of a man who had lost everything, he pleaded, "Please, you must help me. Help me to find her."

Hearing these words uttered in such a broken tone could not but move the analytical, oftentimes cold mind of Detective Cartier. "Keep courage, Vicomte. I will continue to do my best. It has been three days however since you claim to have discovered your fiancé's disappearance and all we have found so far is a letter, as you already know written it seems in her hand with the plea that you try not to locate her whereabouts. That her leaving is "for the best". Judging from the tone, there does exist the possibility that Mlle. Daae was coerced into such a hasty act." Detective Cartier paused in his steps and leant one elbow against a mantelpiece. He continued in a bland voice, "Vicomte, have we your permission to search the rest of Mlle. Daae's quarters now?"

At first, Raoul had remained adamant in the police not disturbing any of Christine's possessions. The idea of strangers rummaging through and forcing open locked drawers of hers repulsed him. Surely, Christine would come back horrified at the spectacle and chide him for being so easily alarmed. And in the back of his mind, Raoul half-expected her to truly walk through the front door any moment…the chill bringing a rosy hue to her bright cheeks and a half-smile sweetly upon her lips. He sighed wearily before answering, "Yes. Yes, do whatever is necessary. I will not interfere anymore."

"Thank you for your cooperation." Cartier nodded and seemed to debating something. "If I may, I would also like to take the time to ask you some questions which would aid us in our investigation."

"I will do my best," replied Raoul with his eyes half-closed.

"Then I will proceed and be likewise exceedingly blunt. Have you and Mlle. Daae quarreled recently? Has she any enemies whom you might suspect?"

"Detective, these are very personal questions."

"Yes but considering the life of your fiancé might hang in the balance if she indeed was taken captive or blackmailed, I consider them a necessity." There was the old ruthless look in Cartier's eyes much as in that of a bloodhound closing fast on its prey.

"And should I refuse to answer you?" Raoul felt himself deeply torn.

"It is your choice," replied Cartier simply. In this back of his mind, he already knew that it was only a matter of time before the Vicomte caved.

Meanwhile, already a full day's train ride away from Paris, a pale lady sat stiffly in an open carriage. Beside her rested the lumpy shape of an oversized leather suitcase. If not for the heavy black veil and hat covering up most her head, one might have seen the prettiest and most expressive pair of chocolate brown eyes in all of France. But she wore the veil, partly to hide her face and partly to cover up her complexion, pale with fear and sorrow.

"It's for the best," Christine repeated over and over to herself, sometimes in her mind and sometimes out loud. "I will not put the man I love in danger."

She had restrained her tears in the past three days. Ever since she had rushed out of the mansion with her red travel cloak on and an unsuspecting young maid dragging the luggage behind. Stationed half a mile away was a horse-drawn carriage which Christine had expressly hired for this purpose. Having once got inside, she had ordered the driver very calmly to take her to the nearest train station out of Paris.

The maid dress which she had cleverly arrayed herself in helped dispel suspicious questions from curious travelers. After all, on the surface she seemed nothing more than a, ordinary servant out running errands for her master.

Initially, Christine had no thought whatsoever of where she could go after her departure from the mansion. The initial stages of her plan was only just formulated and she had only a vague idea of going somewhere…anywhere far, far away where Raoul would not think to look for her. In her mind, she pictured the look of terror and grief on her fiancé's face and the thought so haunted her that at times, she could hardly breathe let alone sleep or eat.

And there was a part of her, the romantic tragic part inherited from nearly a lifetime on stage which urged herself to commit the great sin of taking her own life. To simply wander away to a bank of the Rhine river and throw herself in. For after all, what did she have to live for anymore? She was nothing but a curse to all those who loved her and whom she loved in return. She had no living family to go to and almost no worldly possession herself. And by extinguishing herself from society, Christine would be doing the greatest act of kindness for Raoul and the rest of humanity. It was a tragic notion, a noble thought: the idea of dying for the sake of love. And in this case, the easiest it seemed.

With this view in mind, she had walked on the fourth night to a mossy bank and gazed into the watery surface of the Rhine. It was late afternoon and how calm and tranquil the waters flowed in that park! How they seemed to call to her and urge in their inexplicably babbling language to jump into the great unknown.

She had as a child listened to her father tell her fantastic stories of strange creatures that lived in rivers, of beautiful mermaids who swam up through the ocean to frolic in green lagoons. It was only naturally poetic then that she would end her own life by water then. The world did not need one as she who only contributed to its suffering.

And with a great splash and closed eyes, Christine Daae leapt.

Certainly, death by drowning was nothing romantic when the coldness of the water ripped her breath away and her billowing skirts mercilessly dragged her up and down the cold, dark surface like a floating top. The icy current was gradually leading to a comfortable numbness. She was dimly aware of someone yelling before the river sucked her back down into its grey depths. A desperate gulp of air and water entered her lungs.

'Oh God,' Christine prayed.

From the pocket of her skirt, bits of paper escaped and floated like white lily-pads onto the surface. There they stewed in smeared ink before scattering.

Upon closer examination, one could still read the contents of the latest letter. It was written in a spidery hand with heavy black ink.

_My dear Madame Daae,_

_I'm afraid, darling, that though reasonable man as I am, your lack of action has left me very impatient. Now, I will proceed to ask you politely once more to break off your engagement to the Vicomte at once and leave Paris forever. Otherwise, worse results will occur for all including yourself and your fiancé. _

_And to prove to you, Mlle Daae that I jest not, should you choose to ignore my warnings again, a very serious accident will occur to one in your household. Now I trust, being an honorable gentlewoman as you are, that you will heed this last letter and take me in all seriousness._

_Remember; speak of this to no one. Recall, too, that I have men stationed all across Paris who will continuously watch your every move. It will be in everyone's favor then that you not attempt to do anything rash._

_Cordially yours,_

_An Old Friend _

The wind was pushing with a new intensity as night approached. Overhead a stirring owl uttered eerie calls which echoed darkly in the rising darkness. Other than that, the only other sounds were the rustling of trees and the frantic clop, clop of hooves which left swirls of browning leaves in its wake. Upon closer inspection, one could barely catch a white blur before it vanished away like a phantom ghost.

Raoul was completely unaware of his present surroundings at that moment. He could not feel the coldness pressing against his white shirt nor the rush of air which streaked through his flowing hair. Every muscle in his body was tense, moving in perfect synchrony with the powerful gallops of the horse he was riding.

The reins were gripped so tightly in his hands that the knuckles were almost white. These were given a mighty jerk before the horse was sent sailing over a shallow stream. A split second later, both rider and animal landed effortless on the other side. Ripples alone marked their passage.

He was strangely reminded of a situation only several months before when he had rode as quickly and as frantically on the back of a horse. The air was just as cold as that day and foggy too. The moon had again hung round and full in the horizon as Raoul sought frantically for Christine. That day, he was as a classic hero come straight out of a romance novel, bareback against a white stallion and a sword at his side. Ready to fight for honor and love.

But that was then and this is now. That day, he had felt that Christine's love was with him, had truly believed deep in his heart that no matter what obstacles lay in their paths they would inevitably overcome anything with trust and time. That day, he had known who his enemy was. But this time was different. This time, Raoul had no idea whatsoever who the shapeless phantom was who plotted such evil and the idea suffocated him. It left him feeling utterly helpless and terrified.

"Christine! Christine!" The sound of his cries penetrated the cold rush of wind and broke forth fresh and clear across the night sky. "Christine!"

There was no response and of course he had never truly expected one at all. However, it wasn't entirely true that no one was able to hear him.

Under the shade of a towering sycamore tree, lounged two figures against the rippling bark. One was clearly a lady, covered in shadows and visible only by the sparkle in her dark eyes and white throat.

"We will drive him mad, you know," remarked the man. His voice was deep, velvety as he leaned closer to the woman.

She resisted her initial urges to push him away and only showed her impatience by the slight lowering of her face. 'Don't be ridiculous. With time and experience, he will forget her completely."

"Yes but…"

"Do you doubt me?" An irritated glance to rebuke his words.

"No, of course not. Only I do not believe it will be so easy." He quickly soothed.

"Nothing is ever easy especially when it comes to the human heart. But we have already come this far. There is no turning back now." There was a slight falter in her tone as if doubt had already entered her mind. She spoke with irony.

"Darling…" began the man. There was a slight stir in the shadows reflecting movement from his lean frame.

"Hush!" interrupted the lady and then with a desperate gesture, she seized and took possession of his hand. It was very cold. "You love me, yes?"

There was a silent pause as he debated furiously with all reason, all natural instincts.

"Answer me."

"More than my own life. You must know it by now," he whispered ardently into the darkness, grasping the little white hand firmly in his.

"Then you will do this for my sake, dear pet."

"And stand idly by and watch you harm yourself too, I suppose?"

"Yes, yes…anything to protect my family."

"I do not understand," he murmured, confusion evident in his eyes. When she would not answer, the man only shook his head, dropped her hand, and took a step back from among the trees.

She followed and said with a tone of almost fierce conviction in her voice. "Ah, but you will in time. I promise."

**Thanks for Reading: **The mystery of Raoul and Christine develops further….stay tuned until next time. And yup, since spring break is starting in less than a week for me, I'll hopefully have more time to relax and write.


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